Initially, he reasoned that someone had died and the funeral home was picking up the body and hauling it back to Donnelly’s home for burial preparations. Yet something deep inside scoffed at that idea. Why would they feel compelled to pick up a body in the very “dead” of night? he wondered.
Just a couple of nights ago, standing outside on the boardwalk smoking his pa’s old pipe and listening to the first trills of morning birds in the thickets, he heard the sound of hoof beats approaching up the street. It was still quite dark and Dicky could not tell who was there until Donnelly’s coach was almost upon him.
The lantern light on the front porch of the sheriff’s office illuminated the driver’s face and Dicky saw Mr. Donnelly and his sister staring over at him with cold, hostile eyes. He skedaddled inside, his heart pounding like an Indian war drum and waited for his boss and fellow deputies to arrive. Later, when he mentioned the Donnelly’s nocturnal activities, Winslow told him to shut up and mind his own business.
Now, hearing footsteps coming up from behind him, the deputy turned around and saw three men approaching. His small, brown eyes got big and his mouth sagged open in awe as the epitome of law and justice walked toward him.
Tall and lean, handsome and clean, a sheriff and two deputies strode up the boardwalk with eyes open wide and smiles wreathing their striking features. The man with the sheriff’s star on his vest held out his hand and said, “How do you do?”
Oh, Dicky thought, if only I worked with such men as these.
~
Matthew saw the little deputy with bright, ginger hair and rusty freckles gape at him and his men as they walked up. Grinning, he shook each of their hands and nodded at their introductions but turned an unfortunate beet color when he tried to introduce himself. Stuttering and squirming as his unruly tongue mangled the words, he finally shrugged in silent mortification.
Matthew had met a few stutterers in his life and felt sorry for their predicament. Often, their lack of communication hid stunning intelligence and he decided to test that theory now.
Reaching into his vest pocket, Matthew took out a sheaf of notepaper pinned at the top edge with one of Iris’s sewing needles. Then he asked, “Can you write?”
The young man’s shoulders sagged with relief and he smiled. “Ye.. yeah!”
“Well, let’s head on inside. Maybe you can write your answers to a couple of questions me and my men have, okay?”
Dicky sighed with relief. He had literally begged his boss to let him communicate in this manner but Winslow had turned mean and hissed, “You will talk like a man or be out on yer ass, hear me?”
Now Dicky followed his new hero, Sheriff Matthew Wilcox, and his deputies into the office and wrote the answer to every question asked of him in a fine and flowing hand.
It had never occurred to Dicky that Sheriff Winslow barely knew how to read or write himself, or that the man was a coward deep in his heart, any more than it occurred to Winslow that Dicky was an educated man—a measurable genius—and the best shot in the county. Nor did Winslow realize that Dicky’s diminutive frame housed the heart of a lion and the blood of one of the fiercest, fighting clans in Scotland.
Chapter 10
Chomping at the Bit
Matthew often wished he didn’t wear a star on his vest. Along with the power to serve arrest warrants and mete out the occasional justice in his hometown, he was also compelled to follow the rules whether he liked it or not. This was one of those occasions as he needed permission from the local authorities to conduct his search or run the risk of being jailed himself while the affronted party examined his credentials.
The answers to the questions he asked young Dicky were well written and concise, but maddening in the extreme.
“Where is your boss?” he asked. “Meeting up with some politicos out of Olympia at the courthouse,” was the answer. “When will he return?” “Sorry, not until later this afternoon,” Dicky wrote.
The sheriff gritted his teeth. The young deputy stared up at his gloomy countenance and scribbled another question. “Is there something I can help you with?”
Matthew shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. My deputies and I are searching for some missing girls…my niece in particular. It seems like the trail either starts or ends in this area. But, in order to operate here, I need written authority from the sheriff or closest marshal. Is there a marshal around these parts?”
Dicky shook his head and wrote, “That is why those legislators are here, Sheriff. They brought papers turning this into a new county, Chelan County. When that happens, we will have a lot more resources but it has not happened yet. Sheriff Winslow is the top hand right now.”
Matthew thought for a moment and said, “Dicky, do you think your boss would mind if we showed up at the courthouse and asked him if we might proceed with our search?”
The deputy blushed and his fiery red brows drew together in a frown. He stared into space for a second and then wrote, “Sir, my boss is an angry sort of man. He has ambitions.” Dicky glanced up at Matthew’s face as though considering whether his words were wise or not. Then he shrugged and continued scribbling. “You could try, sir, but he will not thank you for it. In fact, he might say no to your request just to be spiteful.”
Matthew nodded. He had run into quite a few petty despots since he first picked up his star. Men who liked the power and prestige that came with the office but had no feeling or affection for the people they had sworn to protect. Matthew thought that some of the sheriffs he had met over the years were worse than many criminals, not to mention in a position to do terrible damage to their towns and constituents.
“Okay, Dicky.” He sighed. “We’ll come back later this afternoon and talk to your sheriff then. Will you let him know we’re here?”
Dicky nodded. Matthew looked into the kid’s bright eyes and asked, “How about you? Have you seen anything strange around here lately or heard about girls gone missing from the area?”
The deputy stared up at the sheriff and wondered whether or not he should voice his suspicions about the Donnelly’s behavior. A moment passed, then another, while Matthew watched the young man’s face with keen interest.
Finally, Dicky shook his head and wrote, “Most of us have heard about abductions in the area but I do not have any particular knowledge. And none of the girls that I know of are locals. Sorry!”
Matthew stared at him. For the first time since entering the office, he felt that the deputy was either lying or holding back information. Filing his feelings away for the time being, he tipped his hat and said, “Thanks for your help, son. Please inform your sheriff that we will be calling on him later this afternoon.”
Dicky blushed. He did not miss how the man’s green eyes studied his nor the tense attention of the two deputies who accompanied him. He wanted to confide his fears but he had been told all too often by Sheriff Winslow that he did not know what he was talking about and to mind his own business.
Now he’d lost Sheriff Wilcox’s trust and, in doing so, lost even more of his own self-confidence. Getting to his feet, he blurted, “Ththth..ank you, sir. I’ll tutu, tell him.”
The lawmen waved goodbye and walked away down the boardwalk as young Dicky McNulty wrung his hat in his hands and wished he were not such a hopeless coward.
~
Matthew asked, “Did you see that?”
He and his deputies were saddling their horses, getting ready to head out to Yorkie Smith’s house to check out the man’s strange neighbors.
Matthew knew he and his men walked a fine line as, after all, they were going to investigate some of Sheriff Winslow’s own citizens without the man’s authority. Still, Matthew reasoned, they were invited to visit by the old man himself. If they saw something out of place or illegal, he had no doubt that Yorkie would speak to that fact, one which should appease any circuit judge should the need arise.
“Dicky’s face? Yeah, he’s hiding something…or lying,” Roy muttered.
; “I think he was scared, boss,” Abner spoke up.
Matthew mounted his horse and stared over at his young deputy. “I think you’re right. You have good instincts.” Abner blushed with pride.
“I agree, Abner, but don’t forget to speak up once in awhile, okay? Matthew and I can’t be expected to know everything.” Roy’s gruff manner hid a tenderness that had helped shape the timid young man into a good deputy.
“Yes, sir!” he said and gave his big plow horse a slight kick. It was an old animal but huge, hearty and—more importantly—stout enough to carry Abner’s weight for miles on end.
The sheriff and his deputies rode north down a well-maintained dirt road. It was beautiful country with numerous farms, wheat fields, fruit trees, and a busy human population. Matthew saw clay huts with thatched roofs, temporary living quarters for the people who had settled in the area. Even at this early hour, he could hear the sound of saws and hammers piercing the air as the landowners worked feverishly on new houses and barns in preparation for the coming winter.
A half hour later, the lawmen came upon an established apple orchard. Any doubts they might have had over whether it was Yorkie’s property vanished as they saw the oldster himself perched on a wicker ladder clipping away the uppermost branches from one of his trees.
“Ho!” Yorkie called, scrambling down the rungs with a smile. A worn basket filled to the brim with bright, yellow apples sat nearby. “I picked these for you. Some of them are going soft but yer horses won’t mind, I guess.”
Abner stared at the fruit and said, “I ain’t never seen yeller ones before.”
Yorkie picked an apple out of the basket and handed it to the young giant. “Try one, son, and you’ll see why I have one of the best orchards around.”
Abner took a bite and his eyes got big. Chewing, and wiping the fragrant juice off his chin he smiled and said, “Thank you, sir. That’s the best apple I ever et!”
Matthew looked around, drinking in the scenery. It was a beautiful piece of land. To the north, he could see white, snow-capped mountains with skirts of red and gold…the dying, autumnal splendor of late season tamaracks, aspens and maple trees. He could also see a few farms here and there with livestock grazing on the lower slopes.
To the south, he saw the sapphire twinkle of rushing water. He realized it was the Wenatchee River which wound a sinuous path through the back edge of Yorkie Smith’s orchard. Sending plumes of freshwater mist into the air, Matthew understood why the trees and meadows remained green and the trees still produced fruit despite the season.
Yorkie watched Matthew’s face and beamed with pride. “My pa settled here in 1832. I was ten years old at the time. I’ve worked this orchard my whole life.”
“It’s beautiful,” Matthew murmured, then turned around when he heard Roy say, “Boss…”
Roy was pointing his finger to the east, further into the trees. Matthew looked and saw two women kneeling on the ground, talking to three small children. Skinny and ragged, they looked like urchins and he wondered where they came from.
Yorkie sighed, “Well, we’re in luck, if you want to call it that,” he said. Those two ladies live over there in an old farmhouse. Those young’uns belong to my neighbors to the west…the bastards I told you about.”
Matthew was too far away to hear what they were saying but he saw one of the women hand a sack to the kids. With one feral glance over at the men who watched, the children took the sack and melted into the trees, disappearing from sight. The women looked as though they were going to run away as well, but Yorkie called out to them.
“Merrill, please come and talk to us before you go. These men…they’re good men. You don’t need to be afraid.”
Matthew saw the two women whisper to each other, then one of them stepped away and faded into the tree line while the other walked slowly in their direction.
She was an older woman, wearing a blue chambray work shirt tucked into a pair of dungarees. Her long gray hair was loose down her back and she had a battered old kerchief around her neck. She was also attractive but for the tenseness in her face and the obvious fear in her eyes as she studied the men who surrounded Yorkie.
“Merrill, these are lawmen out of the Spokane area. They’re here looking for some missing girls, including Sheriff Wilcox’s niece.”
Matthew stepped forward and extended his right hand, “Pleased to meet you, Ma’am.”
Merrill stared at his hand as if it was a snake, then took a deep breath and clasped his hand in hers. “Merrill Sanders, Sheriff. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Is there anything you can tell us about the abductions in this area, Mrs…?” Matthew asked.
She interrupted him with flashing eyes. “Miss Sanders, if you please.” He nodded and she turned to Yorkie. “Mr. Smith, would you be so kind as to donate a beef roast or the like if my girls and I match it with a cooked ham? You know those children have no way to cook the meat without being caught.”
Yorkie said, “Sure, Meri. You know I will.”
Turning back to Matthew, Merrill said, “Mr. Smith and I are trying to save the lives of a number of children who live across the way, Sheriff. I wish with all my heart that you and your men could put a stop to that devilry.” She sighed. “As to your missing girls…yes, not only have my friends and I heard about it but we have lost some women as well.”
Matthew’s eyebrows rose as Merrill continued, “My property, about a half mile from here, is a haven for homeless women and girls. They don’t always have it easy, you know. Sometimes they are left widowed and alone. Sometimes, though, they are abused by men who are no better than beasts. They are beaten, raped and left for dead by their husbands, or sold into slavery by a man’s debtors.”
She glared up at him and watched in satisfaction when his expression acknowledged the truth in her words.
Matthew wondered which category this handsome woman had once fit into. Despite her years, it was clear to the officers that she must have been a beauty in her youth. The only thing that marred her looks now was a long, jagged scar that ran from her left temple down to the corner of her mouth, like someone had taken a butcher knife to her pretty face.
“Anyway,” she continued, “our guests come and go as they please. Some stay but others will run away again as soon as they heal up. Within the last four months, though, two women who went to town to fetch supplies never came back.” Merrill turned away and studied the mist that rose from the river’s passage at the back of Yorkie’s property.
“Both of those women were here to stay, Sheriff. I would have bet my life on it!” She glared in frustration. “They were both deeply terrorized by their former existence and loved the peace and tranquility I was able to offer them here. That is why I believe they were kidnapped. They were both beautiful girls and, from what I hear, only the pretty ones are taken.”
Shaking her head, Merrill added, “I have a personal stake in seeing those girls found. But before you go, please, please, do something to help those poor children next door.”
Chapter 11
The She-Devil
Merrill left for home after promising to drop off a description and drawings of the girls gone missing before evening. After she had gone, Yorkie spoke to the lawmen about his suspicions.
“The Owens moved here about five years ago… spring of ’87, I believe.” Yorkie scratched his chin whiskers for a few seconds. “At first, I thought they was a fine addition to the neighborhood. He is some sort of pastor and he holds a revival meeting once a month in this big tent they brung up from California. Well, he did until a few months ago anyway.
“Like I said, they have a bunch of kids. Four or five of them, at least. I seen ‘em myself when they first arrived. Lately, though, those children seem to have vanished.” He squeezed his floppy felt hat in his hands. “Now, I know there are people who stick their big noses in each other’s business when they ought not to but I swear, Sheriff, I think something terrible has happened.
&n
bsp; “Where there used to be a passel of kids running around, climbing my trees and getting into mischief like healthy young’uns do, now there are only those two you saw earlier and they are nothing like what they used to be. They are the youngest, I believe…twin girls. I remember them being just as cute as buttons and now they are little better than feral animals.”
Staring up at Matthew, the little old man whispered, “Could you just ride over there and ask after the children’s health, maybe? See what happens, look into Frank and Mary’s faces. You’ll get my meaning, I know it!”
Matthew nodded and said, “We will, sir. Did you want to accompany us?”
Yorkie’s eyes got big and he exclaimed, “No, siree. Those folks…well, I’m an old man and can’t fight like I used to do. I’d just as soon stay back here at home.”
“That’s okay, Mr. Smith. My deputies and I will head over there now. Can we still expect the pleasure of you and your friends’ company later on this evening?”
Yorkie brightened. “For sure. I told Pete, who told…well, like I said, you can count us in.”
Mounting their horses, the lawmen traveled back out onto the road and turned right a mile and a half later onto an overgrown wagon trail. They passed under a stand of willow trees and entered a small meadow. A dilapidated farmhouse sat in the distance and a battered canvas tent took up space in the front yard.
It was close to eleven o’clock by now and the autumn sun had risen over the trees ringing the meadow with unusual intensity. Heat waves rose into the air and crickets sawed their legs together in a somnolent chorus.
“Matthew, look,” Roy murmured.
Following his friend’s gaze, the sheriff saw a teenaged girl hanging clothes on a line next to the dilapidated revival tent. He watched her start with surprise at their approach and run into the house.
Deadman's Fury (The Deadman Series Book 2) Page 7