Bury Them Deep in War Smoke

by Michael D George

  Heck nervously pointed a shaking arm to the darkest part of the graveyard.

  ‘They’re over yonder.’

  Matt Fallen strode carefully between the markers to where his deputy had indicated. The overhanging tree branches from the woodland behind the cemetery prevented the bright moonlight from reaching the three deep holes. Fallen stepped over one of the mounds of soil and then rested his hands on his hips and studied them.

  ‘They’re deep enough,’ he commented.

  ‘They surely are, Matthew,’ Heck agreed as his head twisted on its neck. ‘You could stack about three coffins in each of them if’n you wanted.’

  Fallen rubbed his neck thoughtfully.

  ‘Damned if I can figure who would pay for this,’ he muttered at the deep holes. ‘You said that old Sam got a fifty dollar bill in the mail to have these graves dug, Heck?’

  ‘That’s what Sam told me,’ the special deputy nodded.

  ‘If it’s a joke it’s a real expensive one.’ Fallen muttered.

  Heck was only a few steps behind the marshal. He looked from around Fallen’s left elbow at the empty graves. Sweat defied the dropping temperature and rolled freely down his face.

  ‘A mite creepy, ain’t it?’ Heck said in a hushed voice as his eyes darted around the shadows.

  Marshal Fallen looked down at his trembling deputy and raised an eyebrow.

  ‘What’s creepy about three holes in the ground, Heck?’ he asked. ‘It seems to me that someone’s planning to kill three folks, and this is a warning.’

  ‘Well ain’t that just dandy.’ Heck remarked at his superior’s statement. ‘You sure know how to unsettle a critter, Matthew.’

  ‘Relax,’ Fallen said calmly. ‘Save your fretting until the shooting starts.’

  Heck looked over both shoulders and then back up into the face of his towering friend. He stretched his neck and stood on tiptoe.

  ‘Boot Hill is spooky enough at the best of times but with three fresh dug holes and nobody to fill them up, it just seems worse!’ He hissed quietly.

  ‘Why are you whispering, Heck?’ Fallen asked and waved his arms around at the surrounding area. ‘You ain’t gonna wake anyone up around here even if you yelled your lungs out.’

  Heck considered the marshal’s words for a while, but before he could respond Fallen spoke again.

  ‘You said that this hombre in black walked to a marker and kinda lingered there for a while, Heck,’ he stated. ‘Which marker did he go and look at?’

  Heck scratched his chin and then pointed to their right and jabbed his finger at the air.

  ‘He went over there, Matthew,’ he replied.

  Matt Fallen nodded and headed to where his recently appointed deputy was indicating. After a handful of steps between the headstones and markers he reached the wooden marker board and studied it. Then something caught the attention of the marshal. He gazed down at the muddy ground and the two boot prints that were pointed at the grave marker.

  Fallen knew that the stranger in black had left the clear impressions in the soft damp mud as he had spent a few moments looking at the wooden marker.

  ‘That’s the one,’ Heck said pointing at the wooden rectangle placed at the head of the grave. ‘That hombre was plumb interested in it.’

  The marshal ran a thumbnail along his powerful jaw.

  ‘I know,’ Fallen said as his narrowed eyes stared at the hastily painted name and date on the board. ‘He left his boot prints here.’

  Heck moved to the side of the lawman and squinted at the marker and its hastily painted lettering. ‘Is them words?’

  ‘Sure they’re words,’ Fallen grunted. ‘Can’t you read?’

  ‘Nope,’ Heck readily admitted. ‘It looks like a bunch of Chinese to me.’

  The marshal patted his deputy on the back.

  ‘Oh yeah, I forgot,’ Fallen looked at the name on the crude marker. He nodded confidently. ‘Now this is all starting to make sense, Heck.’

  No matter how hard Heck stared at the grave marker it was still nothing but strange splashes of paint to him. He shook his head in frustration.

  ‘Who in tarnation is buried there, Matthew?’ he asked.

  Fallen turned and started back across the graveyard to where they had left their mounts. Heck scurried after the marshal like a puppy trying to get its master’s attention.

  Fallen pulled his long reins loose of the fence posts and turned the grey horse. He stood like a statue as his eyes thoughtfully stared down at War Smoke and its array of amber lights.

  ‘I figured that hanging and planting that hombre up here would be the end of it,’ he sighed. ‘Looks like I was wrong, Heck.’

  Heck stood between the marshal and the distant settlement until Fallen finally looked at him.

  ‘Who is buried over yonder, Matthew?’ he asked for the second time. ‘I’m kinda curious.’

  Fallen grabbed his saddle horn, then stepped into his stirrup and hoisted himself up on to the back of the skittish grey animal. As the marshal held his horse firmly in check he looked down at his deputy. ‘Have you ever heard of a varmint named Lucas Ward, Heck?’

  Heck raised his eyebrows as his mind raced. He pulled his crude reins free of the white picket fence and then climbed up on to the saddle of his mule.

  ‘Lucas Ward?’ he repeated the name and then shook his head. ‘Nope, I can’t rightly say that I do recall anyone named Lucas Ward, Matthew. Who the hell is he?’

  ‘He was a cold-blooded killer,’ Fallen sighed heavily. ‘A loco-bean that took sordid pleasure from killing innocents just for the pleasure it gave him.’

  ‘When was this, Matthew?’ Heck squinted.

  Fallen moved his horse next to the mule and rested a wrist on his saddle pommel. ‘It was close to a year back.’

  ‘I was off in the high country fur trapping back then,’ Heck remembered. ‘I didn’t get back here until about three or four months ago.’

  Marshal Fallen winked at his deputy and tapped his boots against the flanks of the grey. Both riders started to steer their mounts back towards War Smoke.

  ‘He was a mindless killer, Heck,’ he explained. ‘I caught him standing over his last victim with a bloody knife in his hand. Lucas Ward was totally insane, but he was also a coward and gave up without a fight. He rested in one of my cells for a few weeks until the jury found him guilty and the district judge sentenced him to hang.’

  ‘Well ain’t that just the way,’ Heck shook his head. ‘There ain’t bin a hanging in War Smoke for years and when there is one, I miss it. Damn, I enjoy a good hanging.’

  Fallen narrowed his eyes as he continued to steer his mount towards the glowing lights of the sprawling settlement.

  Heck looked back at Boot Hill and then at Fallen.

  ‘Why didn’t you just shoot the bastard, Matthew?’ he asked. ‘It seems to me that if’n you catch a critter standing over his last victim with a smoking .45 in his hand, you just shoot him.’

  Fallen nodded.

  ‘Ward dropped his knife as soon as he spotted me and Elmer so we couldn’t just kill him,’ he said. ‘Anyway, when we had him locked up he kept writing letters to his brother back east. I don’t know what he wrote exactly but he began to actually believe that he was innocent and we’d made the whole thing up.’

  Heck adjusted his holster. ‘He sure sounds like a real loco-bean to me, Matthew.’

  Matt Fallen smiled.

  ‘The name his letters were addressed to was a certain Jonas Ward,’ the marshal remembered as they drew closer to the large settlement. ‘I’ve got me a feeling chewing at my craw that’s the hombre we’ve bin looking for, Heck.’

  Heck Longfellow polished his deputy star with his cuff and stared blankly ahead. He felt no safer by knowing the probable identity of the mysterious man in black.

  ‘I still reckon you should have shot the critter when you caught him, Matthew,’ he muttered. ‘For all we know his brother is as crazy as he was.’

  ‘You m
ight be right,’ Fallen nodded.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The cool night air had sobered up the deputy as he rounded the corner and headed back into Front Street again. He held the Winchester in his left hand as he crossed from the café towards the funeral parlour. Elmer had circled War Smoke just as he and Matt Fallen had done on countless previous occasions, and was surprised that the town was even quieter than usual.

  As he reached the Rolling Dice gambling hall his attention was drawn to the muted sound of laughter coming from behind its locked doors. Elmer smiled to himself and glanced up along the porched boardwalk. Neither the bright moon nor the street lantern light was capable of illuminating the boardwalk under the various overhangs, yet Elmer spotted something which he thought was unusual.

  The unmistakable figure of Sam Foster was seated directly in front of one of the funeral parlour windows. Elmer grinned as he hastened his approach.

  ‘What you doing out here, Sam?’ he called out. ‘It’s too damn cold to be outside. You’ll catch your death.’

  There was no response to the deputy’s words from the seated undertaker. Elmer slowed his pace as he got closer to the old man. Sam was sitting dressed in his business finery with his chin resting on his chest. The undertaker gave the impression that he was asleep, but the hairs on Elmer’s neck started to tingle.

  ‘Sam?’ Elmer repeated over and over as he reached the motionless figure.

  No matter how much the deputy raised his voice, the seated man did not respond or move. Elmer cautiously rested his rifle against the wall of the building and reluctantly touched the bald-headed figure.

  ‘Wake up, Sam,’ Elmer croaked. ‘Wake up!’

  But Sam Foster would never awaken. He was no longer residing in the thin body which he had occupied for so many decades. Elmer pressed his fingers into the neck of the undertaker in a fashion that he had seen Doc Weaver do many times before.

  There was no pulse.

  Elmer straightened up.

  A chill washed over the young deputy. The reality of what he had discovered finally dawned on him as he rested his back against the wall of the funeral parlour. His heart was pounding in shock. Then his attention was drawn to the sound of hoofs at the far end of the street. Elmer glanced up and saw the two familiar figures of the marshal and Heck riding slowly towards the livery. He rushed to the edge of the boardwalk and waved his arms frantically at them.

  ‘Marshal Fallen!’ he bellowed.

  Recognizing the voice of his distressed deputy, Matt Fallen halted the grey and swung the animal around until he caught sight of his deputy. It was quite obvious to the seasoned lawman that Elmer was far more upset than he had ever seen him be before. Fallen indicated to Heck and then galloped to the funeral parlour. Both the gelded grey and the mule covered the distance quickly.

  They hauled rein.

  ‘What’s wrong, Elmer?’ Fallen asked, taking note of the ashen expression on Elmer’s face. He steadied the grey, and then spotted the lifeless form of the undertaker behind his deputy. He quickly dismounted, stepped up on to the boardwalk and dropped on to one knee beside the stricken old man. He looked up at Heck who was steadying his mule, and indicated to his special deputy to turn around:

  ‘Go wake Doc up, Heck,’ he ordered. ‘Drag him out of bed if you have to, but get him here fast. Tell him that I think Sam is dead but I need him to confirm it.’

  ‘Right away, Matthew,’ Heck pulled his reins hard to his right and then slapped his mule’s tail. The cantankerous animal galloped down Front Street.

  Fallen returned to his full height and removed his Stetson to mop his brow on his shirt sleeve. He looked at the shocked Elmer and patted the youngster on the back.

  ‘Steady, boy,’ he said.

  ‘Is old Sam dead, Marshal Fallen?’ the deputy stammered. ‘Is he?’

  Fallen returned his hat to his head and thoughtfully rubbed his jaw as he stared down at the undertaker. Sam was dressed in his best funeral attire and sat with his bald head lowered. Both lawmen had seen him like this many times before, but this time it was very different.

  ‘I think so, Elmer,’ he drawled. ‘Doc will have to confirm it though.’

  ‘Glory be,’ Elmer shook his head. He had seen numerous people dead before, but this time he was visibly shaken. He moved to the side of the marshal. ‘The poor old galoot must have fallen asleep and then just quit living.’

  ‘Sam was mighty old, Elmer,’ Fallen sighed. ‘Most folks don’t live long enough to get as old as he did.’

  ‘Fancy coming out here to sit down and then die, Marshal Fallen,’ Elmer muttered. ‘I guess Sam was old, but it just don’t seem right to up and die like this.’

  Fallen nodded.

  ‘We all got to die sometime, Elmer,’ he said as he moved back to the seated body. ‘I reckon that it was his time. Sam was old. Hell, he was old when I first came to War Smoke.’

  Elmer watched the marshal step back to where Sam was seated.

  ‘What you figuring on doing, Marshal Fallen?’

  ‘I’m gonna take him inside, Elmer,’ Fallen answered.

  ‘I’ll help you,’ Elmer said.

  Fallen shook his head.

  ‘There ain’t no need, Elmer boy.’ The marshal patted his young friend’s arm. ‘Sam don’t weigh much more than a sack of feathers. I can handle him easy enough.’

  Elmer watched as the marshal carefully slid his arms under the shoulders and legs of the undertaker. Fallen straightened up and moved to the slightly ajar door. The deputy trailed his superior into the office as the marshal laid Sam on the long counter.

  ‘I’ll turn up the lights,’ the deputy said as he hurriedly turned the brass wheels of the parlour’s lamps until the room was bathed in amber light. Then the deputy stared at the undertaker’s face and sighed. ‘I reckon it must have bin old age or the like, Marshal Fallen.’

  There was no response from Fallen as the far bigger lawman walked towards one of the closest lamps. Elmer glanced at Fallen who had his back to him.

  ‘What’s wrong, Marshal Fallen?’ he asked.

  ‘It wasn’t old age that killed Sam, Elmer,’ Fallen said as he slowly turned to face the deputy. Elmer’s eyes widened as they saw the blood on the marshal’s hands as Fallen continued to look at his crimson palms. He then watched as the tall lawman inspected the body more carefully in the bright room.

  ‘You mean Sam was shot?’ he gulped.

  ‘Not shot, Elmer,’ Fallen corrected before looking into his deputy’s face. ‘Sam was brutally stabbed.’

  ‘Stabbed?’

  ‘Yep, stabbed,’ Fallen nodded, wiping his hands on the legs of his pants, then walked back out into the street. The seasoned lawman rested a hand on the wooden upright and shook his head in disbelief.

  Why would anyone kill old Sam? The question tormented him as he heard the echoing of hoofs. Fallen looked up and saw Heck riding through the moonlight towards him. He moved to the hitching rail as Heck dropped to the sand and rushed excitedly towards him.

  ‘Doc’s on his way, Matthew,’ Heck blustered.

  Fallen nodded and then turned on his heels and looked into the funeral parlour at Elmer.

  ‘Stay here and help Doc, Elmer,’ he ordered, then stepped down beside the grey gelding. He pulled the shotgun from its saddle scabbard and then gestured to Heck. ‘You come with me.’

  ‘Where we going, Matthew?’ the special deputy asked as Fallen strode past him and started to cross the street.

  Fallen tossed the shotgun into Heck’s hands and then flicked the safety loop off his holstered six-shooter. He glanced over his wide shoulder at the pal.

  ‘We’re going to the Diamond Pin Hotel, Heck,’ he snarled, his long stride beginning to increase in pace. ‘I’m gonna check to see if Jonas Ward is registered there.’

  ‘You gonna arrest him, Matthew?’ Heck asked.

  Fallen gritted his teeth.

  ‘Nope, if he’s got one speck of blood on him I’m gonna kill him, Heck
.’ He snarled.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Heck had to practically run just to keep up with the determined marshal as they reached the opposite boardwalk and proceeded towards the hotel. Puffing and panting like an old hound dog after a ten-mile run, Heck managed to get level with Fallen.

  ‘What if that varmint is as wily as his dead brother was, Matthew?’ Heck nervously asked. ‘He might be loco enough to prefer a rope to a fight.’

  ‘I ain’t making the same mistake that I made last time, Heck,’ Fallen stepped down from one wooden walkway, crossed a stretch of sand and then stepped up on to another boardwalk. ‘If I’d have shot Lucas and not arrested him he wouldn’t have written to his brother. Sam would still be alive.’

  ‘If this varmint actually killed Sam,’ Heck said.

  ‘My guts tell me that this varmint killed Sam, Heck,’ Fallen snarled. ‘And if he did, I’ll kill him.’

  Both men reached the Diamond Pin and headed for its double doors. Fallen pushed them apart with his left hand and marched across the foyer towards the desk. The clerk saw the two tin stars approaching, and nervously rose to his feet.

  ‘What can I do for you, Marshal?’ he asked as Fallen and Heck reached the desk.

  Without uttering a word, Fallen grabbed the register and swung the open book round until it faced him. Heck squinted at the page as Fallen ran his finger down the various scribblings until he reached the name he sought. He jabbed the page with his finger.

  ‘There he is,’ he said.

  The small clerk looked at the signature and then at Fallen, and raised his eyebrows. He could not believe that the lawman was confident as to the name of the hotel guest.

  ‘You can read that?’ he asked.

  ‘Matthew can read it, sonny,’ Heck sniffed and looked up at his tall friend. ‘You can read it, can’t you?’

  Matt Fallen looked long and hard at the hotel clerk.

  ‘Was the hombre who wrote that clad all in black?’ he asked the nervous man behind the desk.

  ‘He sure was,’ the timid clerk nodded. ‘That fella was dressed from head to toe in black. He bought every bottle of wine, and I took it up to his room. A real weird cuss.’