“They ain’t leavin’,” Floyd Trask said. “They ain’t thinkin’ about leavin’. They’re buildin’ onto that shanty up above Bryant’s house.” Following Beaudry’s instructions, the meek young man had been trying to keep an eye on Jonah and the women. He didn’t like working for Garth, but it gave him an opportunity to be close to Angel Lopez, whom he had worshipped from afar ever since she first came to Deadwood on a wagon train with Charlie and Steve Utter and found employment in Madame Dora DuFran’s brothel. It was a sorrowful day for Floyd when Angel retired from the business of prostitution and moved in with Garth.
“Damn!” Garth Beaudry swore, and slapped the table with the palm of his hand, almost upsetting the whiskey glass at his fingertips. “I warned that little snake to take his mouthy wife and his homely daughter the hell back east where they belong.”
Standing beside the table at his elbow, Angel scrunched her painted lips into a pretty pout. “I want her out of here, Garth. I don’t want her in this town.” She reached up to feel her eye where the bruise had finally disappeared. “That bitch attacked me. She coulda marred my face,” she whined, and rubbed up against his arm, while enjoying the pitiful look of envy on Floyd’s face. “You would have protected me if you had been there,” she teased the young man. “Wouldn’t you, sweetie?”
“Yes, ma’am, I sure woulda,” Floyd replied awkwardly, his face now crimson with embarrassment. He would have given his life to save her honor if the occasion had called for it.
“You’d have probably gotten your ass kicked real good,” Garth commented sarcastically. He grew weary of the love-struck boy’s doting eyes on Angel. “I’ll take care of Jonah Marple and his friends. They won’t stay in this town very long.” He might have taken some action before this to show his in-laws just how unwelcome they were, but he couldn’t help thinking about the two men Jonah had evidently employed. According to Floyd, Cleve and Ben were building Jonah’s house. Maybe so, Garth thought, but one look at the scar-faced gunman and anybody would know he wasn’t a carpenter. Still smarting from his earlier confrontation with the ominous stranger, Garth’s initial thought had been to have him killed. A day or so after, however, his passion for revenge had cooled somewhat, to the extent that he had come to consider the wisdom in a killing that would automatically be linked to him. So his intention was to wait until the two strangers went on their way; then he planned to make things so uncomfortable for Jonah that he would pull up stakes and leave. Now the failure of the two to move on called for Garth to revert to action of a more serious nature. He decided the time to clear Jonah and his daughter out of his life had come. It’s their own fault, he thought. I warned them. “Floyd,” he ordered, “ride down the gulch to Elizabeth Town and tell Cheney I wanna see him.”
“Yes, sir,” Floyd said, and with one more long look in Angel’s direction, he went to do Garth’s bidding. A selfish son of a bitch like Garth Beaudry does not deserve the attention of a woman of Angel’s beauty, he thought. He should go back to that plain-looking wife of his.
Later that afternoon, Sam Cheney walked into the cabin behind the saloon that Garth called his office. He didn’t bother to knock before entering. He never did. “That little snail that works for you said you wanted to see me. You got another miner that don’t know when it’s time to git?”
“I’ve got another job for you and your boys,” Garth replied. “This ain’t got nothing to do with any mining claims, but it’s somebody I wanna run outta town, and it needs to be done so there’s no chance they might wanna come back. You could run into a little trouble,’cause they’ve got a couple of men that look like hired guns hanging around them, so you might need all your men.” He went on to tell Cheney what needed to be done, and emphasized the fact that the people he was targeting lived in town, so he would have to be a little more careful than usual.
A wry smile creased Cheney’s face. “This sounds like somethin’ kinda personal,” he said. “Somebody stick a burr under your saddle?”
“Never mind the reason. It just needs to be done,” Beaudry said, “and make sure nobody sees you do it.” Garth didn’t like Cheney, but then again, he didn’t need to. Cheney was a man to be bought. There was nothing the tall, lean viper wouldn’t do if the pay was right. There was nothing imposing about his appearance, and nothing unusual except for one show of vanity. He wore his long sandy hair in a single ponytail that extended below his shoulder blades.
“Ain’t nobody ever seen me doin’ none of your work yet,” Cheney boasted. “It won’t be no different this time, but it might cost you a little bit more, this job being right here in town. Me and my boys are gonna have to be a whole lot more careful. Besides that, it sounds like we’re gonna have a couple of gun hands to take care of.”
Beaudry had anticipated as much. “All right, but this is the way it’s gonna be. You’ll get your usual pay right now. Then if you do the job nice and neat, and there ain’t any mess left behind that points to me, I’ll pay you half the usual price on top of what I give you today.”
“All right,” Cheney said. “When do you want it done?”
“Whenever you’re ready,” Garth replied. “The sooner, the better. I just don’t want to know how you plan to do it, or nothing else about it. I just wanna know when it’s done.” He got to his feet, dismissing the smug bushwhacker, knowing the insolent smile was meant for him and all men Cheney deemed too gutless to perform the acts he was hired to do. “Floyd here will go with you now and show you the house you’re gonna hit.” He remained standing while he watched the assassin get on his horse and follow Floyd between the buildings back to the main street. Although he did not tell Cheney to kill the two men Jonah had hired, he knew full well that was bound to happen. Then we’ll see how long Jonah hangs around here without his protection, he thought. He reached up and carefully felt his nose, still swollen as it slowly healed.
September 25, 1879. Jonah carved the date on the header over the back door, painstakingly writing out the whole thing. When it was finished to his satisfaction, he stepped back to admire it, then turned to Mary and beamed. “It’s official. She’s finished.”
The small gathering assembled to celebrate the completion of the cabin applauded appropriately and Mary said, “Let’s have some of this cake. I hope it’s fit to eat. This oven bakes a little hotter than my oven back in Omaha.”
Victoria smiled, because Mary said that every time she cooked anything at all in the oven. “I’m sure it’ll be delicious,” she said, and stepped up to help her mother serve. “First slice goes to Mr. Bryant,” she said, and went around the table from there, handing a plate to each person. Mary began filling the coffee cups and gave Cleve a mock look of disapproval when he said they should be celebrating with something a little stronger. Malcolm and his son, James, had been invited over to celebrate with them as a gesture to express their appreciation for their neighborly support during the building period. It was a welcome night with spirits high after a monthlong push to complete the house before winter came to the narrow canyon.
“Ben will be sorry he missed out on the cake,” Jonah said as he held out his cup so Mary could fill it.
“I’ll save him a piece if there’s any left,” Mary replied. “It’s his own fault if there’s none left. He could have waited till tomorrow to go hunting”
Overhearing, Cleve commented, “You know Ben. Once he decides to do somethin’, you might as well save your breath tryin’ to talk him out of it.”
In truth, had anyone suggested a celebration might be held, Ben would have delayed his hunting. But it had been a last-minute decision when Mary thought it appropriate to bake a cake. Ben had threatened to go up in the hills to hunt for several days after their supply of venison had been depleted, but he stayed until the last nail had been driven before leaving early that morning. Victoria thought about the tall, almost silent man, and how much her family owed him for his help and protection. If there’s none left, I’ll make him a cake of his own.
The modest celebration continued into the late evening hours, well past everyone’s bedtime. Finally Malcolm Bryant stood up and announced that it was a wonderful party, but he had to get up early and open the hardware store. “It’s gettin’ along toward midnight,“ he said. “I can’t remember the last time I was up this late. Come on, James, we’ve got to go.” Good nights were exchanged all around, and Jonah and Cleve walked outside to see Bryant and his son off. When they had disappeared down the hill in the darkness, Cleve said, “I’m gonna sleep till noon tomorrow.” He could not have been more mistaken.
After it was over and done, folks say the fire started in Mrs. Ellsnera’s Bakery on Sherman Street at around two o’clock in the morning. How they figured that was hard to say, but there was no question that the flames immediately spread to the hardware store next door, where eight kegs of gunpowder sat waiting to send the flames ripping through the entire town of wooden structures. The blast that ensued woke everyone from their slumber, no matter how late they had gone to bed. The fire spread through the town so rapidly that there was nothing anyone could do but watch the flames as they devoured building after building.
Like thousands of other residents, all the folks at Jonah’s house ran out to see what had happened. Walking down the hill as close as they dared, they stood horrified to see an entire town turned into a roaring furnace.
Equally stunned by the sudden blast that turned Deadwood into a flaming hell, four riders drew up abruptly on the street above Jonah Marple’s house. “What the hell . . . ?” Sam Cheney blurted, while trying to hold his horse from bolting when the frightened horses of his three companions bumped nervously into each other.
“What in the name of hell was that?” Frank Worley yelled as he looked down at the fire spreading in the gulch below them. “And I’m settin’ here holdin’ on to a can of kerosene.”
“It ain’t likely to get up this high on the hill,” Shorty Fagen retorted.
His mind back on what they had come to do, Cheney said, “It’s gonna spread to one house on this hill. Let’s get goin’ while everybody is watching the fire down there.” There was no reason for Cheney to care if Deadwood burned to the ground. His rented room was in Elizabeth Town, farther down the gulch. In fact, he looked upon Deadwood’s tragedy as a real stroke of luck for him. With the whole town ablaze, no one would notice one more house burning to the ground in all the confusion.
They stood horrified by the chaotic scene below them, as they watched from two streets above the town, people running to save what they could from the rapidly spreading flames. The roar of the fire, as it fed on the wooden structures, was like that of a hungry dragon seeking to devour everything in its path as it leaped from building to building, belching smoke and sparks that rose into the cold night air.
One street below them two small children ran from a log cabin, frightened by the fiery eruption so close to their home. A moment later the terrified mother emerged from the cabin, holding on to a third child, frantically calling for the other two. “She needs help with those children,” Mary said, and immediately started down the steep slope toward the street below them.
“I’ll help you,” Victoria called after her, and taking a firm grip on Caleb’s hand, she followed her mother, leaving Cleve and her father to watch on the street above them.
“I ain’t never seen nothin’ like this in my whole life,” Cleve said. When he glanced up toward the street above them, he was stopped in his tracks by what he saw. “Jonah!” he blurted, and pointed. Jonah turned to follow the direction he indicated. “Jonah!” Cleve exclaimed again. “Flames! They look like they’re comin’ from our place!”
“Oh God, no!” Jonah cried. “They can’t be!”
Cleve didn’t wait to make sure; he started running up the hill. “The horses!” he yelled. Jonah followed right behind him. Forcing his stubby legs to the extent of their capability, Cleve gasped for air as he ran up the steep incline. The flames were already reaching up to engulf the new section of roof, causing him to strain even more in a desperate effort to save guns and ammunition inside and move the horses away from the burning house.
By the time he reached the edge of the street cut into the side of the hill, he could see several men on horses riding around the house. Thinking at first that they were trying to help, he hoped they had been able to get his rifle and cartridge belt out of the front room. “Come on, Jonah,” he called behind him, wheezing with each breath, the result of the exertion in climbing the hill. Only then did he realize that the men he saw were not there to help. Instead, they were soaking the porch, not yet on fire, with kerosene. “Stop!” he roared, and reached for the handgun that was not there. He had left it beside his bedroll in the house. Still, he charged toward the four riders with no weapon but his wrath.
Sam Cheney jerked his head around to discover the two men running toward him. “Damn!” he cursed, seeing that he and his men had been caught in the act of burning the house. His concern was eliminated within a few seconds when he realized the two charging up from the road were not armed. They were obviously the two gunmen Beaudry had warned him about. “Well, now, ain’t that handy?” he said to Bull Lacey, who just then pulled up beside him. “Just sit right here and let ’em get a little closer.”
It occurred to Cleve that he had let his anger get in the way of his brain, something he had always prided himself in never permitting. But it was too late now. With no weapon, he should have turned and run for cover as soon as he had realized what was happening. Already too late to correct his error, his concern now was to try to warn Jonah. “Go back!” He managed to get the two words out before the first bullet slammed into his chest. He was still trying to save Jonah when the next bullet tore into his back, dropping him to the ground. His last word spoken on earth was “Jonah!” His last conscious sight was that of the frail little man’s body bucking from the impact of a volley of pistol slugs before he collapsed in death.
“Shorty!” Cheney barked. “Go down to the road and see if anybody else is comin’. Bull, you and Frank throw them bodies into the middle of that fire.” He figured by the time anybody found them, they’d be burned so badly that no one could tell that they had bullet holes in them. “They’ll just think they got trapped in the fire and couldn’t get out,” he said when Bull and Frank carried Jonah’s corpse by him. “Hold on a minute,” he said, looking down at the spindly body. “I thought these two mighta been the two gunmen Beaudry warned me about. He sure as hell don’t look like no hired gun to me.” He glanced over at Cleve’s body, still lying where he had gone down. “Him, maybe, but not this one.” He didn’t particularly care who the victim was, but it told him that at least one of the men Garth had described was still alive. He was sure of it when it occurred to him that neither of the bodies had the scarred face he had been told about. As long as there were no witnesses to the shooting and arson done here on this night, however, there was nothing to worry about.
“Maybe this one is the feller that hired the two gun hands to protect him,” Frank Worley suggested.
“Maybe so,” Cheney replied, then laughed. “He’ll most likely want his money back when they get to hell.” When both bodies had been tossed into the growing flames, and Shorty signaled from the road that no one was coming, Cheney said, “Run them horses outta here. Might as well take ’em with us.”
“Ain’t you afraid somebody’ll see us with them horses?” Bull asked.
“Hell, what if they do?” Cheney replied. “Can’t nobody say we didn’t happen to find ’em after they ran away from the fire.”
“I reckon that’s right,” Bull responded happily. A huge bull of a man, hence the origin of his name, he was the possessor of an uncomplicated brain. His body had far outgrown his mind, leaving him mentally stranded in childhood. “After we’re done here,” he asked excitedly, “can we stay around and watch the fire?”
Chapter 11
Making his way along a hogback that would lead him to the last of the higher mounta
ins that stood between him and the lower hills and canyons, Ben looked up at the low clouds drifting past the peaks. Thin, dark clouds, he thought at first glance. Then he took a longer look and realized that it was smoke floating on the lofty winds. Smoke was always a sign to be cautious of in the mountains, and nearly always associated with Indians, so he began to take in his surroundings more carefully, lest he ride unsuspecting into a Sioux camp.
Once he worked around to the north side of the mountain, leading Graham Barrett’s horse packed with meat, he was able to get a better look over the lower foothills. He could see at once that there was a heavier layer of smoke drifting over the hills and gulches. He could smell it now, and the wind was blowing it from the direction of Deadwood Gulch. A forest fire? he thought, for there was such a great volume of smoke, too much for even a large village of Indians. Without knowing if he should be concerned or not, he urged the buckskin to pick up a quicker pace.
After riding approximately five miles through the lower hills, he topped a low rise and reached the road that wound down the hill on the north side of the gulch. Below him, the smoking ashes of three hundred buildings lay smoldering, filling the gulch with blackened ruins. The entire city of Deadwood had been incinerated from one end to the other of its approximately one-mile length. Ben could barely believe his eyes. It was almost impossible to imagine that such a thing could happen. Thinking it might be the work of hostile Sioux tribes, he at once rejected that idea, for there were hundreds of people below, sifting through the charred timbers of what had been stores and saloons and homes. With some sense of relief, he looked to the sides of the hills where many houses were still intact. Eager to get home, he nudged his horse again and started down the road.
Left Hand of the Law Page 16