Long before he got to the street directly above the ruins of the Bella Union, he saw the dark smoky void where the house should have been. Passing Malcolm Bryant’s house, he felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, for there was no question now that of all the houses on the hillside, Jonah’s alone had burned down. He kicked the buckskin firmly. Up ahead he saw two people standing beside the charred remains of the house he and Cleve had rebuilt. It was Malcolm and Victoria. There was no sign of Cleve or Jonah, or Mary and Caleb.
Victoria turned to see Ben, and immediately ran to meet him. When she was close enough, he saw the tracks of tears down her soot-smeared face. He quickly jumped down from his horse to meet her and caught her in his arms. Pressing her head against his chest, she put her arms around his waist and, clinging tightly to him, began to sob. He held her close for several minutes until she regained control of her emotions; then at the same moment, they both became aware of the closeness and she stepped back. Looking up into his face, she told him. “Papa and Cleve,” she said, catching a sob in her throat. “They’re gone, Ben.”
It struck him then that her multitude of tears was not for the loss of their house. “Gone?” he exclaimed. “What do you mean, gone?” When she just shook her head slowly, fighting back more tears, he repeated the question. “Gone? . . . Dead?” She nodded then. Almost stunned, he looked from her to Malcolm Bryant, who stood silently by, leaning on a shovel, while she told him. “How?” Ben pressed.
“Looks like they burnt up in the fire,” Malcolm answered.
Ben went numb all over. Cleve could not die. Ben thought that Cleve would always be there. The funny little stump of a man had been the only reason Ben had managed to look life in the eye again after the death of his wife and child. The many saloon brawls and Indian attacks that Cleve had survived, and now he was to believe that he had perished because he could not escape a burning house? His attention was brought back to Victoria again, and he berated himself for forgetting her loss for a moment. “I don’t know what to say,” he said gently. “I’m sorry for the pain I know your father’s loss brings you. I’m sorry I wasn’t here. Maybe I mighta been able to do something.”
“Her mama and the boy are down at my house,” Malcolm said. “They can stay there as long as they need to.”
“Why don’t you go back with your mother?” Ben urged Victoria. “I’ll be down there in a little bit, after I take care of the horses.”
“I’m glad you’re back,” she said, and turned to leave. She felt safer when he was there.
Once again thinking clearly after absorbing the shock of what he had returned to find, he turned his attention to Malcolm. Looking to the right and left, he then said, “Out of all these houses on this hillside, this is the only house that caught fire. What are the odds of that happenin’?”
“As near as anybody can figure, it musta just been some bad luck—a spark carried up on the wind caught somewhere on the house—then the rest went up like tinder,” Malcolm said.
“Even so, how did they get caught inside the house?”
“I don’t know,” Malcolm replied. He went on then to relate what the women had told him of the early morning hours when everybody was outside to look at the fire in the gulch below. “They said they were down the hill, trying to help some woman with her kids. They didn’t even know the house was on fire. Cleve and Jonah musta run back to try to save it. By the time Mary and Victoria found out what was happening up above them, it was too late to save anything. And Jonah and Cleve were gone. They couldn’t find ‘em—and nobody knew what happened to ’em till daylight and the fire had died out.”
“Well, that don’t make a bit of sense to me,” Ben said, his grief turning more toward anger. “Somethin’ ain’t right about this. Cleve’s too smart to get caught in a trap like this.” He paused and stewed over it for a moment more before asking, “Where’s Cleve’s body? Have you buried him?”
“Just fixin’ to,” Malcolm said. “James went to get another shovel and a pick. This ground’s pretty hard. The bodies are lyin’ over there by the back corner of the house. We wrapped ’em in some old sheets on account they looked pretty bad. I didn’t want Mary and Victoria and Caleb to see ’em like that.”
Ben walked directly to the back corner of the house and the two white bundles lying there. Intent upon seeing the remains for himself, he had to pause and give himself time to prepare when the numb feeling returned to his spine. He could not prevent his mind from taking him back to the fire that had consumed his wife and child. Once again, he found himself facing the loss of someone close to him killed in a fire. Taking a deep breath, he rolled the nearest body over, unwinding it from the sheet. Even though he had prepared for it, the sight that met his eyes was overwhelming. The charred, heat-deformed body did not resemble anything human. He was only able to identify it as Jonah’s because it was smaller than the other one. He was devastated for a moment when he wondered if Mary Ellen’s and Danny’s bodies had looked like this, and he gave thanks that Jim White Feather had possessed the foresight to bury them before he had a chance to see them. Forcefully willing his thoughts to return to the present, he turned his head to inhale deeply before continuing. The odor of seared meat was sickening, but he made himself inspect the corpse closely, confirming what he already suspected. Backing away, and taking another deep breath, he turned to look at Malcolm. “Did you look at these bodies?”
“Well, yeah,” Malcolm answered. “I had to look at’em to drag ’em outta the house. I didn’t look at ’em real close, though. Matter of fact, I tried not to look at ’em at all. It wasn’t something I wanted to see real close. I’ll be dreaming about ’em as it is.” When Ben continued to fix him with a gaze made menacing by the ugly scar that always appeared to stand out when he became angry, Malcolm became nervous. “Why?” he asked.
“Because they were murdered,” Ben said, his voice calm and deadly, “murdered, then thrown in the fire.” He stood up and pointed at Jonah’s remains. “There’s a pattern of bullet holes in his chest.” He didn’t have to unroll Cleve’s body to verify that similar holes would be there also. He didn’t care to remember his partner in this state.
Horrified to hear what Ben declared, Malcolm had to see for himself, thinking that Ben must surely be mistaken. He walked over to Jonah’s body and took his first close look. “My Lord in heaven,” he gasped as he peered down to see the bullet holes in the puffy seared flesh. He quickly stood up again as James appeared, carrying a pick and shovel. “He doesn’t need to see this,” Malcolm said, and walked to intercept him.
Having seen all he needed to see to know what had taken place here, Ben rolled Jonah’s body back in the sheet. “Where were you fixin’ to bury him?” he asked. When Malcolm pointed to a flat spot where the wagon had been parked, Ben nodded. “Good a spot as any, I reckon.” Speaking to the boy then, he said, “Hand me that pick, son.” He desperately needed some form of release from his anger, and physical labor was the only thing available to him at that moment. He set in to his labor as if to tear the very earth apart, breaking the rock-hard ground into clumps as he swung away with the pick. When he finished with one grave, he immediately started another while Malcolm and his son went to work on the first grave with their shovels. Oblivious of everything but the pick in his hands, he hacked away at the stubborn dirt, unaware of the low, whispered conversation between father and son. When he finally worked the second grave to a point where the shovels could take over, he stepped out of the hole, breathing heavily from his labor, to find Malcolm and James standing there staring at him. Puzzled, he shifted his gaze directly at the boy, but James immediately dropped his chin to stare at the ground. “What is it, boy?” Ben demanded.
Malcolm answered for his son. “There’s something we ain’t told you,” he said. “I didn’t know myself till James told me this morning. It didn’t seem to make much difference, ’cause it didn’t change anything, and it might be better for Mary and Victoria not to know.”
“After we ran out to look at the fires below in the gulch, James here went back home to put the dog in the house, ’cause he wouldn’t shut up his barking. When he started back to where we were watching, he saw this house on fire and it looked like some men riding their horses around it.”
His interest captured immediately, Ben asked, “Did you know them?”
James nodded and began to speak at last. “Yes, sir, I knew them, all right. Everybody knows them, but I didn’t know what they were doing. I thought they had seen the house burning and maybe they were trying to put it out.”
Malcolm interrupted then. “I didn’t know what they mighta been up to,” he said. “Now I reckon I do, since I saw those bullet holes. I don’t know what you might be aiming to do, but I don’t want James mixed up in any of this. There were four of them. I’ll give you their names if I have your word you won’t tell anybody who gave ’em to you. Is that a deal?”
“You have my word,” Ben replied, his voice deadly quiet.
“All right, then,” Malcolm said, “tell him who you saw, James.”
“Sam Cheney, Shorty Fagen, Bull Lacey, and Frank Worley,” James said.
“Where can I find them?” Ben asked, still emotionless.
“They aren’t usually hard to find,” Malcolm replied. “They hang out around the Pair-A-Dice Saloon on the lower end of the gulch, near Elizabeth Town, almost to Montana City. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I gotta warn you, there ain’t a meaner bunch of scoundrels in this whole gulch.”
“Are they miners?”
“Ha,” Malcolm snorted. “Hell no, they’re not miners. I don’t imagine any one of the four has ever done a day’s labor in their whole lives. No, they ain’t got any occupation that anybody knows about, but they always seem to have plenty of money to gamble and buy whiskey with.” He paused while watching Ben closely, trying to read the intent in the scarred face. “Ben,” he said, “I know this is a terrible thing that’s happened here, but I’m trying to warn you that Sam Cheney and his friends are a dangerous bunch to mess with. My advice would be to talk to the sheriff about this, if there is a sheriff after the fire.” He paused again, this time to shake his head sadly before continuing. “If there is a town at all. But you need to think it over before you get yourself in a corner. There’s been a few miners turned up missing all up and down this canyon, and most folks suspect it ain’t Indians that done’em in. You just be careful before you make too much noise about Jonah and Cleve. Cheney’s boys are a pretty rough bunch.”
“I ’preciate the advice,” Ben said. He directed his next question to James. “You’re sure all four of those men were here at the house?” When the boy confirmed that they were, Ben walked to his horse and fished around in his saddlebags to find a piece of cardboard that had once been the bottom of a box of .44 cartridges, and the stub of a pencil. “Tell me their names again,” he said, and he wrote them on the piece of cardboard as James called them off. When he was finished, he put the list in his pocket and returned to the graves. “I expect we’d best get these bodies in the ground,” he said, his tone still minus any hint of emotion. “I’m sure Mary and Victoria will wanna say somethin’ over Jonah’s grave.” He paused then as if just remembering. “I’ll have to do somethin’ with that load of meat on that packhorse pretty quick. The weather’s been cold enough to keep it from spoilin’, but it won’t be fit to eat if we don’t do somethin’ with it pretty soon.”
Ben stood apart from the rest of the small group of mourners gathered to say a few prayers to send the two departed on their way. Malcolm and his son were in attendance to lend their support to Mary, Victoria, and Caleb, even though they had known Jonah’s family for only a brief time. Malcolm would ordinarily have been tending his store, but like every other businessman in Deadwood, he had no store left to tend. After the brief funeral, he would go down to talk to some of the other members of the town’s business district to plan the rebuilding of the town. Ben watched the grieving wife and daughter as they wept beside the rough grave of the simple schoolteacher. Then he thought of the free-spirited and ofttimes humorous little gnome whose body lay in the grave beside that of Jonah’s, and he knew he would sorely miss his friend. He had learned a lot of things from Clever Goganis, most important of which was life goes on, and no matter what happens, you go on with it. He smiled when he thought about the day he had first met Cleve. His mother had been right, he had grown into his name. He was a clever little man. I’ll see that they pay for what they did to you, partner.
He shifted his thoughts to what he might do after he tracked down the four men who murdered Cleve and Jonah, and he found that he had no plans beyond that. With Cleve gone, he had no interest in panning for gold. Looking again at the mourning women, he told himself that he would stay around long enough to see that they were safe and had some kind of plan to survive after Jonah’s death. Malcolm seemed sincere in his invitation for the women to stay with James and him. And, he pointed out, Caleb would be like a little brother to James. It was not his problem, Ben told himself, but he confessed to feeling a caring concern for them and the boy. At the same time, he knew there was no way he could remain with them, even if they wanted him to—not with the job he had sworn himself to do. Once the battle started with Cleve’s four murderers, he could not bring it home to Victoria and Mary, and he had assured Malcolm that he would not connect him and his family with any action he took. So, he decided, as soon as I think they’re safely settled, I’ll be saying good-bye.
When all had been said over the graves, they left the ruins of the home that they had planned to be theirs through the winter, and walked the quarter mile down the road toward Bryant’s house. Victoria moved up beside him, walking with him for a few moments before she made up her mind to speak. “You’re thinking about going after the men who did this, aren’t you?” He didn’t reply, merely shrugged his shoulders. “Please think about what you’re doing. We’ve already lost Papa and Cleve. There’s no sense in you risking your life now. It won’t bring them back.”
“If they don’t pay for what they did, then it’s the same as sayin’ Cleve and your father’s lives weren’t worth anythin’,” he answered. “I owe Cleve more than that. He’d do the same if it was me lyin’ back there in the ground.”
“Please, Ben, go to the sheriff, and let him handle it,” she pleaded.
“Maybe,” he said, trying to pacify her concern. “We’ll see if there is a sheriff in Deadwood. There’s not a buildin’ standin’, so I don’t know where to look for him.” He hoped that would satisfy her that he wasn’t going to do anything right away, although he had no real intention of going to the law with his problem. Before the jail burned down, they might have received a telegram from the U.S. Marshal Service, describing a scar-faced fugitive wanted for murdering a deputy sheriff in Kansas. He was not willing to take that risk. As for Malcolm Bryant, Ben understood there would be no help from the hardware store proprietor on this matter. All that was necessary was for Malcolm to tell the sheriff the same thing he had told him, and let James testify as a witness. But Malcolm had made it pretty plain that he feared for his life and family if he fingered Cheney and his cronies as the guilty parties. It was just as well, he thought, for he didn’t have faith in the sheriff’s office to seek the punishment Cheney and his gang deserved. Remembering his own trial, and the verdict handed down by Judge Lon Blake, he didn’t trust the judges to rule fairly as well. This was a crime that called for an eye for an eye punishment, and he was the only person capable of rendering it.
As he had promised himself, he stayed close to Victoria and Mary for a couple of days until satisfied that Malcolm was sincere in his invitation to them to remain there indefinitely. It was apparent soon enough that Malcolm was delighted to have two women in his house, especially when it was time to cook something to eat. Ben used much of that time to make sure his weapons and other gear were in good shape. Malcolm spen
t most of the two days meeting with the other business owners down in the gulch, planning to rebuild the town. This time, he told them, they would build it back with brick and stone, instead of the tinderbox of wood and canvas that it had been before. When all the damage was counted, the fire had destroyed over three hundred buildings, leaving two thousand people homeless. “But we don’t aim to sit around sucking our thumbs and weeping about it,” Malcolm told them. “We’re gonna build Deadwood back better than ever.”
“I expect you will,” Ben told him. “I’ll be leavin’ for a spell now that the folks seem to be gettin’ along all right. I’ve got a little bit of money I’ve been savin’ for a long time. I’ll leave you some of it to help out with the expenses. It’s in greenbacks instead of gold dust, but as soon as you folks get your bank back in business, it’ll spend as good as dust.”
“Ah, hell no, Ben,” Malcolm at once refused. “I won’t take any money for keeping these folks. They’re welcome here. I think it’ll be good for James to have someone to talk to besides a grumpy old man, anyway.”
Ben was sure that a major share of Malcolm’s generosity was born out of guilt for shying away from pointing a finger at Cheney.
Ben tried to convince him to accept at least a small sum, but Malcolm was adamant in his refusal. “All right.” Ben finally gave in. “At least I can drop you off some fresh meat once in a while. There’s plenty of elk and deer and antelope back up in those mountains where I’ll be.”
“You’d best watch your scalp in those mountains,” Malcolm warned. “Those damn Indians are looking for any white man that strays too far from Deadwood.”
Left Hand of the Law Page 17