Second Chance (The Deadman Series Book 5)

by Linell Jeppsen

  Grinning, he added, “This Wilcox fellow can show up at the jailhouse tomorrow, but there won’t be a witness left to implicate us, right? Meanwhile, we can use the next couple of days to reconnoiter this new player…and maybe make another move on the Thurstons. They’ll probably feel pretty safe, knowing that the men who have been gunning for them are all dead.”

  Branson stared at his two old friends and nodded. “Okay, then. Check this Wilcox out. See who he works for and what he’s doing. In the meanwhile, someone, please, take care of Thurston and his daughter. So far, I think they only know about Delray and his men, but sooner or later, they might piece things together and implicate us all!”

  Timothy sighed. “I’ll take care of those two myself.”

  “Sure you can handle it, Timmy?” Castle asked.

  Farnsworth stood up and, for a second, Stephen Castle was reminded of the formidable young man he had met so long ago. “You bet I can handle it, Stephen. And, if you don’t start treating me with a little more respect, you will be feeling the hard end of my fists!”

  “Now, now, gentlemen…” Branson murmured.

  But Stephen had already stood up. “Timmy, I am truly sorry,” he said. “I am behaving badly, and have offended one of my oldest and truest friends! Please, forgive me…and my sharp tongue!”

  Farnsworth studied Castle’s contrite expression. He no longer trusted Stephen, any more than that old lunatic, Branson, but he was in just as deeply as the other two men.

  Sighing, he said, “Okay, Stephen. I forgive you.” He put his hat on his head adding, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it seems I have a train to catch.”

  “Just one moment, Timothy,” Branson growled, ringing a little bell on the table by his side.

  A few moments passed, and then two of Branson’s henchmen came to the parlor doors holding young Scooter in front of them at gunpoint.

  Branson sneered and picked a pistol up off the little round table. “Timothy…Stephen, you make think I’m soft on my men but you’re wrong…observe. He raised the gun, aimed and shot Scott Little between the eyes.

  Then he put the pistol back on the side table and said, “This is what happens when our men fail in their duties. Best to remember it from now on…”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chance

  Five days had passed since Chance jumped off the cliff and broke his ankle. Once he’d been carried back to the Lindsay’s cabin, Dicky and Abner did a good job of binding the break. Luckily, Hannah found some aspirin powder tucked away in a kit in the kitchen, and after taking two powders and drinking a few shots of whiskey to dull the pain, he’d fallen asleep and slept for a full day.

  He had jerked awake a few times dreaming, alternatively, of roaring bears and naked girls but, finally, he woke up feeling sore but rested. He was able to move about now—slowly—but too much activity caused his ankle to swell painfully.

  He was bored, though, and growing prickly, so Dicky tasked him with the chore of sharpening blades, cleaning firearms and loading bullets. He sat at the table now, his hands slick with gun-oil.

  Hannah and her father were often gone (another source of frustration for Chance, who wanted nothing more than to sit with the young woman and drink in the sight, sound and smell of her.) They traveled back to the mineral-filled place she had found, where the she-bear lay butchered in the weeds.

  While Chance had slept, the men took turns skinning the animal and quartering the meat for eating. Now, the only thing left of the maddened beast was its skeleton. The pelt was stretched onto a drying rack in back of the house. Hannah had informed Chance that she would make him a fine bearskin coat but, right now, when he looked at it and caught the faint smell of decay wafting from its surface as it dried in the sun, he shuddered with dread.

  He remembered a young draftee he had met once in military school. The boy wanted, more than anything, to be a soldier; to fight for his country, hearth and home, but he was afraid of heights. So fearful was he that even boarding a horse caused him to break out in a cold sweat. It was a condition the Army doc had called Latent Hysteria, and it was enough to get the young man mustered out of service.

  Chance recalled the tears of disappointment streaking the kid’s face as he left the barracks for the last time and wondered now if he, himself, had just become “hysterical” over bears! Shaking his head, he thought, better get over it quick…bears are thick as thieves—everywhere!

  He could hear Dick and Bill Nash, the deputy on loan from the Spokane sheriff’s office, talking outside on the front porch. They were repairing and oiling all of Jacob’s leather tack, while Abner was spending his time replacing loose roofing and broken or rotting boards on the outbuildings.

  “The telegraph Sheriff Lobey sent says he wants me to come back home,” Nash said. “Trust me, though, I would rather stay on here. I haven’t had such a restful time in a long while, but Lobey is the boss and I got to do what he says.”

  Dick said, “Well, I haven’t heard from Matthew in a while, but I know that things seem to be okay here. If you have to go back to Spokane, I sure won’t try to stop you.”

  Chance heard regret in Nash’s voice as he replied, “Thank you, Dick. Like I said, I’d rather stay on but I can’t be losing my job, what with a family to feed and all.” There was a pause, then he added, “I’ll leave in the morning, alright?”

  Dicky answered, “That will be fine, Bill. Thanks.”

  The slow but steady sound of cloth and pumice being stroked over metal and leather resumed and Chance got up to make a fresh pot of coffee. His left foot dragged a little and he heard Dick call out, “Chance, do you need help in there?”

  “No, I got it, thanks,” Chance gritted through clenched teeth. Any time his foot met the least bit of resistance, the broken bone in his ankle sent waves of pain through his whole body. Standing still for a minute, and letting the agony fade to tolerable levels, he heard Dick mutter under his breath.

  “Oh, oh…looks like we got c…company,” he said,

  Chance felt a chill of recognition. When he was a young boy, he had often heard Dick stutter. It was something his old friend had struggled with for many years. Now, the only time Dick ever became tongue-tied was when he was angry, excited…or scared.

  Dick let out a high, shrill whistle, both for Abner and for the Lindsay’s who were a couple of miles away, but could still hear certain tones—like a whistle or a gunshot as it echoed up through the high canyon walls.

  “You think that’s them?” Nash asked.

  “Don’t know, Bill,” Dick answered. “But we’d better be ready, just in case.” A moment later, Chance heard Dick say, “Chance, you stay inside now, you hear? Are you close to the guns?”

  “Yes Sir, I am. I’ll cover you from behind, okay?”

  “That’ll be fine, son.” Dick replied.

  Chance hobbled back over to the long, plank table by the kitchen window. It was heaped with pistols, rifles and shotguns. Gun oil fumes stung his eyes as he picked up two rifles and two pistols, along with three boxes of shells. He limped to the front door, bent over and scooted the firearms out onto the front porch between Dick and Bill, who stood watching the road, and the five men on horseback that approached.

  “Thank you, Chance,” Dick said, “Now, get back inside and arm yourself.”

  Chance walked slowly to the table and sat in a chair. Heart pounding with dread, he started loading every rifle and pistol within reach, listening all the while to what was going on outside.

  For a moment, all he heard was the slow clip-clop of horse hooves, then he heard a man call out, “Hello! Are you the owners of this here property?”

  Dick shouted back, “We are and we ask you fellas to back up and move on!”

  “Why, that’s not very neighborly! My men and I just need to water our horses, that’s all.” The same man called out, his voice a mixture of pleading and threat.

  “Nope! Sorry, but we are all dried out here! Move on down the road a spell, and
you’ll see the river bends up close to the road. You can water your horses there.”

  Dick’s voice held no stutter now. In fact, Chance could just picture his friend’s face, and how his faded freckles sometimes blazed to life, along with his brown eyes when he got riled up.

  There was a shuffle just outside the door and Chance heard Dick whisper, “You ready, Bill?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be, I reckon,” Nash whispered back.

  Another loud whistle pierced the air and then the shooting began. Chance thought Dick got off the first shot but, after that, it was anyone’s guess. Gunfire filled the air, pistol fire mainly, with the occasional shotgun blast announcing itself in ear-shattering glory.

  Chance knelt on the floor, loading the other men’s guns as they slid in the door, smoking and hot. Over the sound of gunfire, he could hear angry shouting and yelps of pain as a bullet found its mark.

  Chance thought that his companions were kneeling on the porch floor, using the rails as cover but, at one point, he heard Dick exclaim, “Bill, get d…d…down!”

  Almost immediately, he heard Nash cry out as a bullet buried itself in his body. There was a mighty crash as the man fell backwards, half in and half outside the front door. Chance struggled to his feet and thought he heard happy cheering as he pulled the wounded deputy inside the house.

  Glancing down at the bleeding lawman, Chance saw a large patch of red staining the front of Nash’s chest. He gulped and bent over to peel his shirt off. Nash was gasping for air and his face had gone the color of spoiled milk.

  Wiping the blood away as much as possible, Chance knew the deputy was a goner. A large caliber bullet had entered the man’s chest, close to his heart, and he could hear air whistling out from the ruin of his left lung.

  For a moment, it looked as though Bill was trying to speak but then his eyes went blank…fixed on some vision only he could see. Chance trembled as he saw death steal the soul of a man he had grown to like and then he reached out and closed Bill’s eyelids.

  “Chance! A little help here…” Dick hollered.

  Chance sprang to his feet, grimly ignoring the agony that shot from his ankle to the top of his thigh. Grabbing two pistols, he dropped down and squirmed out the front door on his knees and elbows. Glancing through the posts and rails on the front porch, he saw that two of the five men were down but the three other men had scattered into hiding behind the trees dotting the property.

  There was a lull in the action as everyone seemed to take stock at once. Then Chance heard Abner’s shotgun roar. There was a howl of pain from the north end of the front pasture.

  Then a voice cried out, “Steve! Steve, help me out, will ya? That big bastard with the shotgun just filled me fulla buckshot! I think I’m dying!”

  There was no answer and, for a second, Chance wondered if they had managed to put down all five men. Then he froze as he heard, “Put down that shooter before I plug ya in the back of the head!”

  The man named Steve had stolen around the house from behind and now had the drop on them. Chance saw Dick stiffen and say, “Steady now, Mister. We’re putting our weapons down…see?”

  “You too, kid. Put your pistol down, NOW!” the man snarled.

  Chance felt bile back up in his throat. Under normal circumstances, he thought that they could have prevailed over these bandits but, five men to four was pushing the odds, especially since he, himself, was next to useless.

  Chance set his gun on the floorboards and stayed on his knees with his hands held high in the air. Dick fell to his knees as well, and said, “You go ahead and take whatever you want. We know when we’re beat.”

  Steve grinned as his gun swayed from side to side, first pointing at Dick’s face and then to the younger man. Chance’s heart slammed in his chest and a wave of sorrow made tears prick his eyes. It wasn’t as though he was afraid of dying, or of the pain…this close, Steve’s bullet would spell an almost instant death.

  Nah, it was the fact that he wouldn’t be able to hug his Pa’s neck and say goodbye or, take the delectable young woman named Hannah in his arms, place his lips over hers and feel the smoothness of her flesh against his. Furious, suddenly, at crooks in general and at this particular crook specifically, he glared up at the bandit named Steve and snarled in defiance, “Screw you!”

  Dick’s voice sped up a little, but Chance was proud to hear no sign of a stutter as he blurted, “Shush now, Chance…let me handle this!” Turning back to Steve, he added, “If you’re in a killing state of mind, go ahead and do me, okay? Just leave the kid alone!”

  Steve smirked and answered, “Nah, you all made too much of a mess here. Best I put all of you outta your misery. Can’t be leavin’ any witnesses around, can I?”

  Dick opened his mouth to plead some more, but before he had a chance to utter a word, a bright red flower blossomed on Steve’s chest, followed closely by the sound of a large caliber pistol.

  The man’s jaw sagged open as he stared down at his body and then at the two men kneeling before him in confusion. Then, he fell backwards with a sigh.

  Dick and Chance exchanged their own bewildered glances and then turned around in time to see Matthew riding up on his favorite horse Lincoln, Abner trailing behind him and cradling his right arm, which was soaking red with blood.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Taking Time to Catch a Breath

  Matthew stepped off his horse and made his way, quickly, up the porch steps to where Chance and Dick still knelt on their knees. Both men seemed uninjured but were visibly shaking with nerves. Dick stared at Matthew with stricken, remorseful eyes but Chance kept his eyes down even as his body quaked with spent fear.

  Matthew stood over his son and raised Chance’s chin with a gloved finger. Green eyes met, but it was the older man’s eyes that filled with tears of relief. Matthew pulled Chance to his feet with a groan and wrapped his arms around the younger man’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, son. I’m so sorry I didn’t come sooner!”

  Chance was trying hard to be brave—for his old man, Dick, Abner…but especially for himself. It took a moment for Matthew’s words to penetrate the jumble of emotions in his mind, but then he stepped back and said, “No! It’s my fault for breaking my ankle, and not being able to help more in this shootout! I’m the one who’s sorry!”

  Matthew stepped back and looked down at the young man’s left foot, which he saw was wrapped in bandages, purple toes sticking out the front of the wrappings and a purple ankle peeking out from behind. “My God, Chance! What the hell happened?”

  Chance blushed and started to answer for himself, when Dick spoke up. “Matthew, let’s go on inside and take a minute to catch our breath, okay?”

  Matthew looked at his old friend and apologized, “Yeah, I’m sorry. How are you doing, Dicky?”

  McNulty grinned and said, “Besides having the piss scared outta me, I’m just fine. Looks like Abner could use a hand, though, and Chance needs to take the weight off that foot.”

  Abner, after making sure his friends were all right, had already stepped inside the house and sat down on a chair by the wood stove. He was peeling the shirt off his shoulder to get a gander at his gunshot wound when Matthew’s hand took the fabric and peeled the cloth away from a long but shallow graze on his upper right arm. “Doesn’t look too bad, Abner. Let me get some soap and water, and some medicine out of my kit. We’ll have you fixed up in no time.”

  Abner looked up, smiling, and Matthew reached down to pat his left shoulder. His face was still pale with left-over fear, as he whispered the words, “Thank you so much, Abner…really.”

  Abner nodded solemnly, watching as Matthew walked to the large barrel by the front door, filled a tin pan with water and put it on the wood stove to heat. Just as he started to walk outside, young Hannah came flying up the steps with her father Jacob, red-faced and wheezing, close behind.

  “What happened?” she cried. “Is everyone alright?” Her eyes sought and found Chance, who was sitting in
a chair by the stove. Abner saw her start toward the young man and then pause, as if worried that Chance’s father might notice the affection that had grown between them the last couple of weeks.

  Matthew, for his part, had seen Hans and Jacob fly around the front of the house and mount the stairs, but it wasn’t until he reached into his saddlebags for his medical kit that his mind registered the long, shiny length of jet-black hair that hung down the boy’s back or how high and feminine Hans’ voice seemed now.

  He paused for a moment, both to let his nerves settle and to grin in understanding. He had not really had an opportunity before he left for Spokane to figure out what was so different about Jacob’s oldest son, but now it made perfect sense. Rolling his eyes, he thought, “It figures that Chance would find himself a girl to woo, while I’m chasing down criminals in Spokane!”

  Then, remembering just how close Chance, Dicky and Abner had come to being gunned down themselves, Matthew sobered and walked back inside to assess the damage and try to figure out, with the rest of his team, what to do from here on out.

  Three hours later, Matthew and the other’s sat in the twilight, discussing the bear attack, recent events in Spokane, and possible future plans. Fatigue and the aftermath of fear had left some of them exhausted. Chance was lying on a pallet with his eyes closed and Abner was starting to doze off as well. He never drank alcohol, but he was succumbing to the small dose of laudanum Matthew had put in his coffee.

  They had gathered all the bodies together earlier, except for Bill Nash’s corpse, and filled the back of the wagon with dead criminals. The wagon sat outside on the entrance road now, covered with a tarp. Matthew planned on traveling the thirteen miles into Wallace tomorrow and dropping the dead crooks off at the sheriff’s office.

  Bill Nash, meanwhile, was wrapped up tight and lying in the “cold-house.” Matthew wanted the Spokane sheriff’s office and Bill’s family to find the deputy in proper shape when they came to collect him.