Percy Dillon drove a wagon for Guthrie Building and Lumber Supply company, Walt Goodman drove one for the Chugwater Mercantile Store. Even though the two men worked for different employers, they often made the trip to Cheyenne together, so they had become good friends.
Tonight they were celebrating Walt’s thirty-fifth birthday in the Wild Hog Saloon. Kathy, Annie, and Betty, having learned that it was Walt’s birthday, had given him a “birthday present” by coming over to the table and flirting with him without charging him the price of a drink. And, because Percy was with him, he also got to enjoy their company.
“Hey,” Percy said to Annie. “Next month it’s goin’ to be my birthday. Are you ladies goin’ to come spend some time with me then, the way you’re a-visitin’ Walt now?”
“I don’t know,” Annie said. She ran her hand through Walt’s hair. “Walt is a lot prettier than you are.”
“There you go, Percy, did you hear—wait a minute! Did you say I was prettier than Percy?”
“That’s what I said, honey.”
Percy laughed in loud guffaws. “Pretty! Annie thinks you are pretty!” He continued to laugh.
“I ain’t no way pretty,” Walt said. “Go away, if that’s what you think I am.”
“All right, honey, I’ll leave if you want me to,” Annie said with an exaggerated pout. She bent down and kissed Walt on top of his head before she and the other two girls left.
“Damn, Walt, now look what you done. You sent her away.”
“I ain’t pretty,” Walt said, mumbling into his drink.
“Hey, look at the clock. It’s damn near midnight, and me ’n’ you both has got a run to Cheyenne tomorrow. We’d best be gettin’ on back to the boardin’ house.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Walt said.
Johnny, Calhoun, Evans, Harper, and Leroy were waiting in a little patch of woods just outside of town. The sounds of the town, the tinkling of a couple of pianos, periodic outbursts of laughter, and low murmur of conversation coming from both the Fiddler’s Green and the Wild Hog Saloons drifted out to compete with the trilling of the night insects. From one of the houses on the outskirts of town, a baby started crying. In a nearby stable, a mule brayed.
They were waiting for the perfect opportunity and that came when two cowboys left the Wild Hog, staggering along the boardwalk, barely able to keep upright.
“All right, let’s go,” Johnny said. “Remember, ride in real slow. We don’t want to do nothin’ that might spook them.”
They rode in slowly, but not quietly, because the horses’ hooves made loud clopping noises.
“I tell you what, Percy, I been thinkin’ about it. And I think Annie is in love with me,” Walt said.
Percy laughed. “What makes you think that?”
“Well, ’cause she called me pretty.”
“I thought that made you mad.”
“Well, it did at first, but then I got to thinkin’ about it. She more ’n likely figured that was a compliment.”
The five horsemen rode on up to the two drunken men, as if totally oblivious to them, and the two men, engaged in their own conversation, paid no attention to the riders. Neither Percy nor Walt noticed it when Johnny Norton and Bart Evans dismounted no more than thirty feet behind them.
“Bullshit, Walt. Annie is no different from any of the other women who work there. They are only in love with you as long as you have money to spend on ’em,” Percy replied.
“Well, I wasn’t buyin’ her no drinks tonight, now, was I?”
“That’s just ’cause it is your birthday.”
“No, I mean I can tell by the way she acts, the way she looks at me. It’s like she’s sayin’ that she don’t really want to drink with nobody else but me.”
“Ha! Walt, you are as full of . . .”
That was as far as he got, because Johnny had dismounted and come up behind him. Grabbing a handful of Percy’s hair, Johnny forced his head back, exposing his neck. He drew a sharp knife across Percy’s neck, cutting the carotid artery. Percy made a gurgling sound, even as Walt was having his own carotid artery severed.
Johnny and Calhoun stepped back to let the two men crumple to the ground. Then, as the two men lay bleeding their lives away in the dirt of Bowie Avenue, Johnny reached down and pinned a note to the one who had stopped flopping first.
“All right,” Johnny said, rubbing his hands together as if in appreciation of his own work. “Let’s see what happens next.”
A crowing rooster awakened Louise Teasdale the next morning. Louise was a cook at the City Café and she had to get up early every morning in order to be to the café in time to get the fire laid in the cook stove and start preparing breakfast. She yawned, stretched, then smiled as she wished she could have held on to the dream that was just now drifting away. In it, she wasn’t a cook, but a pampered wife in a big house that was filled with servants who would clean and cook for her and her handsome and wealthy husband.
“That’s why they call them dreams,” she said, chuckling as she spoke aloud. She hurried to get dressed.
The sun was but half a disk above the eastern horizon when she left her small, one-room house and headed for work. She saw two men lying in the street, just off the boardwalk in front of her, and she shook her head. Her route to work took her right by the Wild Hog Saloon. These two men were not the first passed-out drunks she had ever encountered.
“Looks like Marshal Ferrell could at least get the drunks off the street,” she said aloud. She hiked her skirt, preparing to going around the two men. That was when she saw the blood.
“What?” she asked curiously, and she leaned down for a closer look.
One of the men was lying facedown, but the one that was lying on his back had his head tipped back. His skin was a gray pallor, and his mouth and eyes were open. But the most grotesque sight was the great gaping gash in his neck. It looked as if his neck had nearly been sawed in two.
Louise’s scream awakened households for two blocks around.
The double murder was the lead story in the Chugwater Defender that evening.
GRISLY FIND IN STREETS OF CHUGWATER
While on the way to her place of employment at the City Café, where she works as a cook, Miss Louise Teasdale discovered the bodies of Percy Dillon and Walt Goodman. Both men had been brutally murdered, their throats cut in a most foul manner.
Attached to Mr. Goodman’s body was a note that read, “We will kill more of your citizens if you do not let my brother go.”
Although the note was not signed, it is believed to have been written by Johnny Taylor, whose brother, Emile, having been legally indicted, is currently incarcerated and awaiting trial for murder in connection with the recent bank robbery.
When contacted, Marshal Ferrell stated that the note will have no effect on him, and that Emile Taylor will remain in jail until such disposition as shall be made of him by the court. That disposition, it is believed by all, will be a hanging, and to that end a gallows is already being built.
The two young men, known as good and dependable workers by their employers, R.W. Guthrie and Fred Matthews, had made many friends in our fair community. A kind word for all is how their friends remember them and speak of them today.
Yesterday was Mr. Goodman’s birthday, and he celebrated it with his friends at the Wild Hog Saloon. It is said that they left the saloon at just before midnight, and as their bodies were discovered but two blocks from the watering establishment, it is assumed that they were murdered very soon after.
Messers Guthrie and Matthews have expressed a willingness to pay all expenses for the burial of their two employees. They invite the town to attend the funeral to say good-bye to these two young men who from this earth were untimely plucked, to be transported to a place where a more befitting abode awaits them.
Chapter Twenty-three
Because the two men had been freight wagon drivers, their caskets were open and lying in the back of the same wagons they had driven in lif
e. The two wagons, with Walt’s wagon in the lead, were decorated with black bunting, pulled by horses that were draped with a black pall. The wagons were driven slowly through town in a funeral cortege that grew in numbers as it proceeded toward the cemetery.
At first, people were puzzled as to why so many people would want to attend the burial, then someone suggested that perhaps it was because the boys had no family of their own to mourn for them. Their graves were side by side because, as Fred Matthews said, “They were friends in life, they will be friends through eternity.”
Elmer came into town for the burial. He knew both men on sight and had even had a few drinks with them. But he didn’t come because he knew them. He came because he had seen a lot of men—friends, acquaintances, enemies, even perfect strangers, buried in unmarked graves a long way from home. And as the two graves were being simultaneously closed, he remembered another burial. Not a burial, really, but a committal of a body to the sea.
They were fourteen days out of Madagascar when the boy fell from the rigging and died within moments after crashing onto the deck. He was buried at sea within an hour, the sail maker having made a shroud for the committal.
The ship’s company turned out for the burial, but there was no clergyman on the three-masted Baltic Trader, so the captain read the rites of burial.
The man they were burying had only come aboard for this cruise, joining the ship in Norfolk, Virginia. He had given his name as John Smith, but most just referred to him as “Red” because of the color of his hair. It was suspected by some, though nobody knew for sure, that he was running from the law, and had come on this cruise on as a means of escape.
“Think he’s got folks somewhere?” one of the other sailors asked Elmer.
“Everybody has folks somewhere,” Elmer replied.
“There ain’t goin’ to be nobody ever knows what happened to this fella.”
“That ain’t true.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll know,” Elmer said.
It was one week after Dillon and Goodman were buried, and Duff and Elmer were up on the roof of the barn replacing shingles when Marshal Ferrell came riding up.
“Hello, Marshal,” Elmer called down to him. “Get yourself a hammer and come on up and help.”
“If there is anything you don’t want, it’s me climbin’ around on a roof,” Marshal Ferrell said. “Duff, have you got a minute?”
“Aye,” Duff said, starting toward the ladder.
“Now, damn it, you two had that all cooked up, didn’t you?” Elmer said. “You prob’ly told him, ‘come on out tomorrow ’bout nine or so and say you need me so’s I can get Elmer to finish with the roof.’”
Duff chuckled as he stepped onto the ladder to climb down. “Aye, Elmer, what can I say? Sure now, and you have it all figured out.”
“I knew it, I knew it,” Elmer said, though his complaining was ameliorated by his laughter.
“Good Morning, Jerry. What brings you to Sky Meadow?”
“Johnny Taylor,” Marshal Ferrell said.
“There hasn’t been another killing, has there?”
“No, but the town is awfully uneasy.”
“I expect it would be,” Duff said.
“Duff, maybe I should have checked with you before I did this, but I was hoping that you would agree to it. And if you don’t agree, I’ll understand. On the other hand, if you do agree, why, then it won’t take no time because it’s already set.”
“Here now, Jerry, and would you be for tellin’ me what it is you are trying to say? Sure ’n’ you’re talkin’ in riddles.”
“I’m talkin’ about deputyin’.”
“Deputying?”
“Yes, deputying. In particular, I’m talkin’ about you deputying.”
“Marshal, there’s nae need for you to appoint me a deputy. Sure ’n’ haven’t I always come to your aid when asked? And didn’t I do the same thing for Marshal Craig, before you?”
“I’m not talkin’ about being a deputy town marshal, which truth to tell don’t give you much more authority than to bring in a fella for takin’ a piss in the street. No, sir, I’m talkin’ ’bout you bein’ a deputy with some real power. I been thinkin’ about this for a couple of days, so yesterday I sent a telegram to the sheriff down in Cheyenne and told him what I wanted.”
“And what is it you want?”
“What I wanted was for him to make you a deputy sheriff, and that’s what he’s done. That gives you authority all over Laramie County.”
“How can he make me a deputy? Don’t I have to be sworn in?”
“You will be. I’ve already got things all set up for it. That is, if you are willing to accept the appointment.”
“I don’t know, Marshal, you know my history. ’Twas a sheriff’s deputy that killed my fiancée back in Scotland. I don’t know how I could bring myself to callin’ myself such.”
“You can call yourself anything you want, Duff,” Marshal Ferrell said. “But I need your help. The town needs your help. Because I’ll be honest with you, with a man like Johnny Taylor out there, I don’t know where this is going to end. The town is now divided into two parts, one part wants us to hang Emile right now, and the other part wants us to let him go.”
“Take the man up on his offer, Duff,” Elmer called down from the roof of the barn. He had come down to the edge and was sitting there now, with his legs hanging down from the eves. “In the time I’ve known you, I’ve never known you to walk away from a fight. And seems to me like this Johnny fella is making it some personal. If you’re worried about leavin’ the place, don’t be. I’ll take care of things here.”
“Elmer, there is much to be done out here. ’Twould not be right for me to leave you out here alone.”
“Alone? Hell, Duff, this ain’t no two-man operation no more, not like it was when me ’n’ you first built that little ol’ one room cabin. You have fourteen men workin’ for you now. It ain’t as if I’m goin’ to be doin’ physical labor all by myself. Go on. Like the marshal said, the town needs you. And I don’t have to remind you that Vi and Miss Parker live in town. And I’d feel a heap better about ’em, knowin’ you was there to sort of look after ’em ’n’ all.”
Duff nodded. “Aye, you may have a point,” he said. He turned toward the marshal. “What now?”
“Come back to town with me,” Marshal Ferrell said. “I can’t swear you in because bein’ a deputy sheriff is a county office. But Justice of the Peace Norton can. We’ll go see him.”
“You’re goin’ to see the justice of the peace?” Elmer asked. “Hey, Duff, that would be a good chance for you to stop by and pick up Miss Parker on your way.”
“And why would I be for doing that?”
Marshal Ferrell chuckled. “He’s giving you a hint, Duff. Here, a justice of the peace can perform marriage ceremonies.”
“Sure ’n’ isn’t that something I should discuss with Miss Parker first?”
Duff rode back to town with Marshal Ferrell. As they rode by Fiddler’s Green, Marshal Ferrell asked if he wanted to stop for a beer.
“It might be good to get the dust of the ride out of our mouths,” he said.
The two men dismounted then went into the saloon. Duff was surprised to see that Meagan, Fred Matthews, and R.W. Guthrie were there, along with Justice of the Peace Norton. A sign was stretched across the back wall.
CHUGWATER WELCOMES DEPUTY SHERIFF DUFF MACCALLISTER
“Here, now, ’n’ what is all this?”
“We knew you wouldn’t turn the offer down,” Biff Johnson said. “So we thought we’d have a bit of a celebration with the swearing-in. In celebration of the occasion, Rose cooked up a batch of haggis, taties, and neeps.”
At the mention of some of his native food, Duff smiled broadly. “Did she now? Sure ’n’ ’tis a foine woman you have married, Biff Johnson.”
“Let’s get to the swearing-in so we can celebrate,” Norton suggested. “Mr. MacCallister, if you wou
ld hold up your right hand please?”
Duff did.
“Do you solemnly swear that you will faithfully perform the duties of the office of deputy sheriff for Laramie County, Wyoming?”
“I do.”
“You are now a deputy sheriff.”
Meagan pinned the badge onto Duff’s shirt.
“You know, when Biff asked me to come over here to see you and the justice of the peace, I wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted,” she said quietly.
Duff looked surprised by her comment, and she laughed and put her fingers on his lips before he could say anything.
“Don’t worry, I’m just teasing.”
“Oh, what is the awful-tasting stuff?” Cindy asked from the table, where such things as boiled eggs, bits of ham and cheese, cookies, and the haggis, taties, and neeps had been laid out. She had just tasted some of the latter.
“Bless her heart,” Meagan said. “I’ll bet she has no idea how many feathers in her cap she lost with you by that comment.”
“Sure now, Meagan, and why would you be for thinking the lass had any feathers to lose?”
After a brief celebration, and congratulations from all, Duff went down to the marshal’s office with Ferrell.
“I’ve put you a desk back there,” he said. “Of course, you are sort of on your own, but I thought, just in case you wanted to check the latest reward posters, or news about any sightings, you could have a place to come.”
“I appreciate it.”
“Duff, have you ever heard of the town of Bordeaux?”
“It’s just north of here, isn’t it? I’ve nae been there, but I have heard of it. Why would you ask?”
“The town of Bordeaux has a reputation of being rather lawless.”
“I see. And would you be for thinking that Johnny and the others might be there?”
Kill Crazy Page 17