Burns waved his shirt-clad arm at the empty chair across the table from him. “It ain’t hospitable to shout across a room.”
Sam now stood alone at the bar. All the other patrons shoved up against the walls near the front and back doors. “There’s plenty of room over here,” he challenged. “Come on over, and you can whisper for all I care. Where’s your partner?”
Burns reached for the shotgun then pulled his hand back. “He’s dead, and you’re the cause of it,” he hollered.
Sam tried to study the man’s eyes, but the smoke in the room made it difficult. “He was alive when I left Dodge.”
“Well, he ain’t now. Gangrene set in that foot where you crippled him.” Sweat coursed down the man’s dirty forehead.
“Dodge City must have a dozen doctors, Burns. He was doctored in jail; I was there. If he died over that wound, he died because of stupidity.”
Red-faced, Burns reached for the shotgun again but jerked back as Sam Fortune cocked his still holstered revolver. “Don’t get too cheeky, Fortune. I’ve got friends in this room who will back my play.”
Sam lowered the hammer back down to safety but left his hand on the walnut grip. “That’s good, Burns. A man needs friends. Although, I don’t understand why they would want to side with a man who kicks women when they’re down.”
“That’ a lie,” Burns screamed. “I didn’t kick that woman! It was McDermitt that kicked her.”
Sam surveyed the others in the bar. “At least I know what kind of friends you run with.”
“Don’t push it, Fortune, or there will be a dozen guns pointed at you.”
With his finger pointed like a gun, Sam tilted his hat back with his left hand. “A dozen guns? Well, that should make it about even. Burns, you and me are new to Deadwood, but the rest of these boys probably already know that tall man at the door is my brother Todd. Some of you read about him in that Hawthorne Miller novel. Then, through the smoke, standin’ at the back, is the Captain—little brother Robert is one of the army’s best sharpshooters. He’s been with General Crook down on the border lookin’ for Geronimo. And, of course, you all know Daddy Brazos. That’s a .50-caliber Sharps carbine in his hand. Did any of you ever see how big a hole that bullet makes in a man?”
“Only four of you? I told you, I’ve got a dozen men. So you better come over here, sit down, and listen to what I have to say,” Burns raved.
“You ain’t got me, Burns,” a man at the back of the room called out. “I ain’t goin’ up against them Fortunes, no matter how many is on our side. I ain’t that drunk.”
“There’s only four of them,” Burns shouted.
“Four Fortunes is worth forty of any other breed,” another man hollered.
“I ain’t standin’ with you either, Burns,” a broad-shouldered man blustered, his face still smudged from a shift in the mine tunnels. “I got too many leads left to follow and too many trails left to ride. I ain’t goin’ to git in a fight I cain’t win.”
Burns paced behind the table like a lawyer pleading with the jury for a guilty verdict. “But he jumped me and my pard from behind in an alley!”
A heavy, dark-skinned man, missing a lower button on his soiled, blue shirt, ambled to the front door. “Maybe folks believe that in Dodge City,” he called out. “But in Deadwood, Fortunes face you straight up ever’ time. Your story don’t float with me. I’m goin’ to drink somewhere I ain’t so liabled to get killed.”
Burns scurried around the table, the amber whiskey bottle in his left hand. “What’s the matter with you? You lose your sand? You goin’ to let this bunch run the town?”
The bartender, looping his thumbs in his soiled, white apron, blurted out from the corner, “I was behind the counter the night that tall Fortune by the front door came in here, buffaloed Cigar Dubois without a scratch, and held the rest of the saloon at bay. You multiply that by four and take ’em on by yourself—well, you’d be the biggest fool to ever set foot in the Piedmont. And believe me, we’ve had some fools.”
“You better watch what you say,” Burns screamed. “The last bartender that double-crossed me nearly got his head bashed in, down in Dodge City.”
It was like a bolt of lightening hit Sam’s neck and flashed to his toes. He took two steps toward the man behind the table. “What do you mean, ‘the last bartender’?”
Burns spun around and plopped down in the chair, his back to the wall. “You come sit at my table, and I’ll tell you an interestin’ story about your old pal Talbert.”
Sam stomped to the table. Not Talbert . . . not with a wife and kids and a picket fence . . . Lord, I’ll kill him right here in the chair if he . . . “What about Talbert?”
Burns pointed to the empty chair across from him. “Sit down. I’m tired of yellin’.”
“I’m not sittin’ down in front of your shotgun barrel. Even a back-shootin’ drunk couldn’t miss at that range.”
Burns motioned to the group of spectators in the corner. “Come get my shotgun and Fortune’s revolver. We’ll jist talk about this for a minute. I ain’t totin’ a side arm.”
A gray-haired man with wrinkled face and eyes almost whiskied shut, shuffled over to the table and retrieved the shotgun. Sam pulled his revolver but tossed it to Todd, who continued his vigilance at the front door.
“You ain’t very trustin’ of nobody, are you?” Burns challenged.
“I’ve got three men in this room that I’d trust with my life any day of the week. How many do you have?”
Burns looked up and bit his lip. “You made a point with that, Fortune.” He laced his fingers behind the back of his head. “Now, sit down, and I’ll tell you about your pal Talbert. There ain’t nobody in Dodge who will stick up for you again, that’s for sure.”
Sam studied the wild-eyed man for a moment. Lord, I’ve already made up my mind to kill him if anything’s happened to Talbert. I haven’t even been in town a day, and everything’s spinnin’ out of control. Maybe it’s good that Todd has my gun, providin’ I don’t beat Burns to death with a chair.
“You goin’ to sit down or not?” Burns demanded.
“I can hear fine right here.”
“Well, I ain’t talkin’ unless you sit down and put your hands above the table. I ain’t havin’ you draw no sneakgun on me. Or maybe you don’t care about how much Talbert’s wife was bawlin’ that day.”
Sam fought the urge to lunge at Burns. Instead he threw himself into the wooden chair, ground his teeth, and folded his arms across his chest.
In unison, three shots blasted across the saloon.
One from the front door.
Two from the back door, one of which sounded like a canon.
All three ripped into the ceiling above Sam’s head.
Startled, he shoved back.
The chair fell over.
He tumbled to the middle of the sticky floor.
A shotgun blasted from a peephole in the second floor.
The chair shredded.
Todd, Brazos, and Robert fired another round into the ceiling.
Someone upstairs screamed and cursed.
Burns reached to his boot.
Sam dove at the table and slammed it against the outlaw’s neck, pinning him to the wall.
Todd tossed him his revolver then shouted, “You and Daddy take that one; me and Bobby will get the one upstairs!”
Gasping for breath when Sam released the table, Burns pleaded, “Don’t let him kill me, boys. Don’t let him kill me!”
Gray-white, acrid tasting gunsmoke drifted across the room in silent response.
“Give me my shotgun!” Burns screamed.
The gray-haired man dropped the shotgun at his own feet. “Come and get it. I ain’t takin’ sides.”
“What’s the matter with all o
f you?” Burns hollered. “He’s goin’ to shoot me down!”
“That’s usually what happens when you try to ambush someone,” the bartender said.
Sam took a step closer and aimed the revolver at Burns’s head . He was only two feet away.
The bartender stepped over to the busted chair. “Fortune, do you mind takin’ him out to the alley, so I don’t have to scrub blood off the wall?”
Sam holstered his gun and clenched his fist. Not today, Burns—I will not kill you today! This is li’l sis’s day, and I’m not going to muddy it.
The shots fired into the abandoned second floor of the Piedmont had exploded the wood flooring into a barrage of flying chips. Doc Hetcher spent a half hour plucking splinters out of McDermitt’s face and backside. Then, Sheriff Seth Bullock locked both outlaws in the Lawrence County Jail.
The clouds that lined the Gulch all day had drifted east. The stars blinked open one at a time like bears stretching after a long winter’s hibernation. In a mostly clear Dakota night, all four Fortune men slipped back onto the porch of the Merchant’s Hotel. Inside, the fiddle band played a waltz. Dacee June spied them first.
“All right, just where have you been? I felt like my family totally deserted me.” She scurried over and slipped her arm in her father’s, her waist-length, brown wavy hair was braided in white ribbons down her back.
Brazos peeked through the window into the ballroom. “Your family is a husband with a tight shirt collar and a wide grin, who happens to be dancin’ with Thelma Speaker, bless his soul.”
Dacee June stooped to glance through the white lace curtains then faced the men on the porch. “Well, I know when I’ve been kicked out of the nest.” She feigned a pout.
“Did you ever know a girl who could curl her lip better than li’l sis?” Brazos teased.
“There are certainly some things I won’t miss!” she declared.
“Does this mean we don’t have to spoil her rotten anymore?” Todd laughed.
Dacee June folded her white silk-sleeved arms across her chest and prowled across the porch. “Spoiled, am I?”
“Don’t take it personally,” Robert said. “Spoiling always looked good on you, li’l sis. “But now, Carty can do the spoiling, and we don’t have to.”
“Well, Sammy is still spoilin’ me!” she purred as she slipped over and kissed his cheek. “You should see the silk dressing gown he bought me. It cost thirty-five dollars and it makes me the most elegant woman in the Black Hills. Jamie Sue and Rebekah said so! Columbia said she has never seen a more luxurious gown—and she ought to know.”
“Well, these rich, telephone exchange company men have more money to toss around than a simple army captain,” Robert joshed.
“If you divide that over twelve years of missed birthdays and Christmases, it’s mighty stingy.” Sam slipped his arm around Dacee June’s shoulder and held her tight. I can’t remember the last time I held a grown woman I wasn’t makin’ a pass at. He sighed and shook his head. “Besides, I earned ever’ penny of that thirty-five dollars. I sold a stallion that bucked me off fourteen times. That devil pinned me against the gate at the sale yard and bit my shoulder. I should have shot him right then and there. I shed blood for the money to buy that gown.”
“It’s the most beautiful gown in North America!” she boasted as she slipped her arm around Sam’s waist. “Although, having Sammy here is the most wonderful gift I could have gotten. The gown is just an extra blessing. I can’t believe you bought it for me. I never thought I’d ever own anything so majestically royal. I’m going to feel like a queen every time I wear it!”
“You are the queen,” Todd asserted.
“Big brother’s right,” Robert added. “You’ll always be queen of the Fortune clan, no matter what your last name.”
Suddenly Dacee June swung around, buried her head in Sam’s chest, and sobbed.
Robert stepped closer. “What did I say?” Brazos and Todd also huddled near her.
“Dacee June?” Sam asked as he rocked her back and forth, “What’s the matter, sis?”
“I’m not the queen . . . I’m only the princess,” she whimpered.
“What?” Todd said.
“Mama’s the queen. She’ll always be the queen . . . to Daddy . . . to you boys . . . to me.” Tears streamed down her face. She peeked at her brothers. “I wish she could have been here at my wedding.”
Brazos turned away from the others and shuffled down the steps toward the street.
“Oh Daddy, I’m sorry . . . ,” Dacee June cried out. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you melancholy.”
Brazos Fortune turned back. Tears cut across his tanned, wrinkled cheeks. “Darlin’, there ain’t nothin’ wrong with missin’ your mama. And I don’t want a one of you to ever stop missin’ her. You know I never will. Dacee June, this has been the most beautiful wedding I’ve ever seen. But I think maybe I need to go up to the house for a while. I’ve had a big day. I’ll expect to see you three boys at the store in the mornin’—and I don’t expect to see you, young lady, for a week!”
“Good night, Daddy,” she called out. “I love you.”
Brazos nodded his head and wiped back a few more tears. “Good night, darlin’. I love you too. I’m goin’ to miss that sweet voice of yours in the mornin’.”
All four watched him shuffle across the street.
“It’s tough to see him gettin’ old,” Todd mumbled.
Sam shook his head. “He didn’t seem old down at the Piedmont.”
“He lives for moments like those,” Robert added.
“The Piedmont? What were you doing down in the badlands?” Dacee June pressed.
“Don’t go blabbin’ to Rebekah, but we visited with a couple old acquaintances of Sam’s,” Todd explained.
Dacee June’s eyes grew wide. “Are they dead?”
“Nope,” Robert answered, “but they are in jail.”
“The four of you took them on? I should have been there!” Dacee June complained, “Why didn’t you come get me? But, I don’t have my gun. They said it was bad luck to carry a gun in your wedding dress. I could have stopped by the store and picked up the shotgun. Then I could have—” She glanced down at her long wedding dress, then looked up at the evening sky. “I’m twenty-one years old, and I still sound like a twelve-year-old, don’t I?”
“You sound like our li’l sis,” Todd said. “You’ll never have to explain that to the three of us.”
“I think I’m just nervous. That’s why I’m so emotional.”
“Everyone’s nervous on their wedding day,” Robert assured her. “You remember how I went for that long walk, and Todd had to come find me on my wedding day?”
“I’m more than nervous,” Dacee June admitted. “I’m scared to death.”
“About being married? Bein’ on your own? Settin’ up housekeepin’? Preparin’ to have children some day—and all those things that happen after a couple marries?” Todd asked.
Dacee June bit her lip and stared down at the porch. “No. I’m scared to death about what will happen in bed tonight after we turn out the lantern.”
Sam glanced over at his brothers then back at Dacee June. “Now we’re all really missin’ Mama, li’l sis.”
Dacee June stepped to the rail and stared across the street at the gas light that illuminated the front of the hardware. “Not as much as Daddy does. This must be tough on him. I’ve got Carty now. Todd has Rebekah. Bobby has Jamie Sue. Sammy has Abby. But he doesn’t have—”
“Wait, wait . . . wait! What do you mean, I have Abby? I just met the lady this afternoon. I don’t even know her,” Sam protested.
Dacee June brushed down the front of her white, silk dress. “Well, you like her, don’t you?”
“I hardly know the woman.” Sam could feel his
neck get hot. “And she doesn’t know me at all! Don’t you start tryin’ to control my life.”
“Sammy, absolutely no one—including the Lord—ever controlled your life,” Todd challenged.
Sam pushed his hat back and ran his hand through his sandy blond and gray hair. “That part is goin’ to change.”
“Well, it’s too late for you to back out.” Dacee June laced her fingers together and held them at her waist. Her eyes danced, “We have all decided you two should be together, and that’s that.”
“Oh? Who’s we?” He eyed Robert and Todd. “Are you two in on this railroad?”
“Shoot, no,” Robert grinned. “We tried to tell them that Abigail’s too good for you, that she could do better. But they wouldn’t listen to reason.”
“Rebekah, Jamie Sue, and I decided you and Abby would make a perfect couple,” Dacee June announced.
Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “Did you ask Abby about that?”
Dacee June held her nose high. “What difference does that make? I’m sure you two will see it our way, in time.”
“If you remember,” Sam insisted, “I never did cotton much to being manipulated.”
“That’s simply because you have never in your life had to deal with the strong wills of three women at the same time.” She addressed her other brothers, “Todd, you and Robert be honest: If Rebekah, Jamie Sue, and I set our hearts on something, will it happen or not?”
Robert shook his head, “Sammy, you haven’t got a chance in the world.”
“Bobby’s right,” Todd concurred. “You can’t even get out of this by shootin’ yourself, because those three would pray you back from the dead.”
“I can’t believe this. I show up after twelve years of bein’ gone and my family wants to marry me off the first day.”
“How old are you, Sam Fortune?” Dacee June interrogated.
“I’m thirty-four. You all know that.”
“Have you been, or are you now, married?”
“Of course not.”
“Well, you obviously are not doing very well on your own and need all the help you can get,” Dacee June said.
The Long Trail Home Page 19