Deadman's Lament (The Deadman Series Book 1)

by Linell Jeppsen

  Looking past the awful sight—while trying in vain to keep his fury in check—Matthew studied the Indians who were tied up and watching helplessly from the other side of the fire; they were old men and a few young boys. The boys shouted in anger but the old men just wept silent tears.

  Matthew saw his deputies approach slowly, creeping low and steady on either side of him. Looking to his right, he whispered, “Come on over, Bob…you too, Roy.”

  Settling down in the grass beside the sheriff, Roy muttered, “Sorry business, Boss. What should we do?”

  Matthew sighed and said, “What we SHOULD do is walk away and forget we ever saw this…”

  Bob gasped. “But sir, we gotta help…”

  Matthew laid a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Shhh! I said that is what we should do…it is never a good idea to go up against the U.S. Army. There are too many ramifications and too much paperwork involved.” He lifted the spyglass to his eye again and winced as a woman cried out when a soldier mounted a little girl.

  “However,” he growled, “we are going to stop this, right now! I need both of you to swear witness if this goes to a court of law…do you swear?”

  Both Bob and Roy nodded vehemently and then they made their plans.

  About a half hour later, three men crept down the hillside into the small valley. Like ghosts, they came out of the dark from three directions at once. The soldiers—caught up in their drunken, lustful frenzy—did not notice the new arrivals but many of the Indian men and women did.

  The captives silently watched as the tallest, a handsome man with a silver star pinned to the crown of his hat, took the hilt of his knife and cuffed one of the soldiers on the back of the head, rendering him prostrate and unconscious; the other men did the same thing with two more of the soldiers. Within seconds, they were trussed up in a heap.

  The three soldiers still in the act of rape suddenly realized that something had changed and stopped their sexual assaults. Looking around in bewilderment, they jumped up in alarm and stared at their friends.

  The three ghosts had melted into the shadows and the Indian captives could not help but smile, knowing the remaining soldiers did not stand a chance against the men with stars on their hats and chests.

  “What’s going on? Who’s out there?” one of the soldiers yelled, staring with superstitious awe even as he fumbled at the buttons of his pants. Then, like a wraith, the tall man reappeared and hit the man a heavy blow to his head. The soldier sagged to the ground, his flaccid penis still exposed. There were two other soldiers left, however, and one of them seemed far more sober and quick on his feet than the others.

  The Indians saw him bend and pluck a pistol from a leather belt, taking aim at their saviors; one shouted a warning but it faded to silence as a huge wolf sprang out of nowhere and latched its teeth onto the soldier’s wrist. The man let out a squeal of rage and fear as he fell, the snarling animal on top of him.

  The Indians did not understand what the tall, golden man cried but the wolf stopped its attack immediately and ran to him, grinning and wagging its tail with joy. The Indians knew a powerful totem when they saw one and they murmured to one another in amazement.

  In confused panic, the two remaining soldiers tried to escape but the men with stars on their chests grabbed and beat them, quickly tying them to the rest. Then the saviors started writing words on paper in very large letters. None of the Indians spoke the white man’s language so they did not know that RAPISTS was written on the signs. They did understand, though, when the golden-haired man rummaged around and found a set of keys in one of the soldier’s bags.

  He walked over to where the Indians sat chained together and put the key in an iron padlock. Within seconds, the chain slithered loose from their wrist cuffs and then the man took a different key, snapping each of the cuffs open.

  Many of the soldiers were awake by now and hollering in rage but the three men paid no attention. Instead, they wrapped shawls and blankets around the women and shooed them toward their tribe members who stared and wondered what to do. Then the tall man made a familiar gesture with his arms and said, “GO! Go on, hurry!”

  The Indians quickly faded into the night.

  “You’re gonna pay for this!” one of the soldiers hissed as Matthew and his deputies wrapped the same long chain around them.

  The two deputies kept silent but the man with the sheriff’s star answered, “Is that right? Last I heard rape is still a crime punishable by firing squad, if you’re a soldier and by hanging, if you are a civilian.”

  Finished with the prisoners, Bob and Roy stepped away and watched their leader who stared down at the soldiers in fury.

  “They was just a bunch of filthy Injuns!” another man cried. “Are you really gonna leave us here?”

  “Yes,” Matthew said. “However, we will inform the closest sheriff. I’ll let them decide what to do with you.” Slapping his hat against his thigh, Matthew spat on the ground at their feet. Then he turned to Bob and Roy. “Let’s get the hell out of here. The reek of these so-called soldiers is making me sick.”

  The three men walked away to the sound of the soldier’s pleas for mercy and understanding. Reaching camp, they then loaded up and made for town.

  Chapter 16

  A Reckoning for Two Skunks

  The sheriff and his two deputies rode into town…such as it was. A haphazard sprinkling of canvas tents, old covered wagons and vendor’s carts squatted in mud a foot deep in places. There were two wooden buildings; one appeared to be a saloon and the other was a mercantile. The mercantile was closed up tight but the saloon was filled to overflowing, rambunctious with tinny music and drunken shouts of glee.

  Sighing, Matthew got down off his horse and said, “Guess there are no hotels around here.” He hitched his horse to the rail in front of the saloon thinking that a deputy must be around somewhere.

  Panting, Bandit ran to him and Matthew took a long rope, tied the wolf to a post on the boardwalk in front of the building, and told him to stay. Turning to his men, the sheriff said, “I don’t mind if you boys want to wet your whistle. It’s been a long day. Only one, though, okay?”

  Bob and Roy nodded. The younger deputy untied a wooden bucket from the mule and said, “I’m going to give these horses some water from that trough. Then I’ll be in.”

  Matthew smiled and said, “Thank you. We won’t tarry so come in quick if you want a drink. I’m just gonna ask if there’s a boarding house around here.”

  He and Roy entered the saloon and stood inside the large room, looking around. There were loggers and miners, trappers and card handlers. At least a dozen prostitutes circulated, looking like a flock of exotic birds in their bright silk dresses and red lips. They looked well-fed and reasonably happy which meant the owner was taking care of his investments so Matthew relaxed a little. Walking over to the bartender, Matthew ordered two whiskies and asked if there was a boarding house or a sheriff in town.

  The heavyset man studied Matthew’s star, then placed the drinks in front of his new customers. Pursing his lips, he let a long line of spit drizzle through his front teeth and said, “The sheriff and his deputies are in town…about three miles yonder. This is just an outpost.”

  When his lips twisted in a sneer, Matthew thought he was going to have trouble on his hands but the bartender said, “I’m the owner of this establishment…name’s Monroe.” He stretched his hand over the bar to shake. Frowning he continued, “Deputies step in here once a night but mostly they stay clear on account of those rascals over there.” He pointed toward the back of the room where four men were playing cards.

  Matthew took note of the fact that most of the women steered clear of that table and many of the men, as well. Looking closer, he saw that two of the players looked familiar. His heartbeat sped up a little and he leaned over to whisper in Roy’s ear. “Don’t look that way but I think we got us a couple of fish. Let’s study those warrants.”

  Monroe hustled off to fill a fe
w customer orders and then came back their way. Picking up a long, white rag, he polished some glasses in front of them and said, “Those boys come in here once a month or so. I think they are with some outfit or other and by that I mean the Mad Hatters. They’ve roughed up my girls and stolen from me.”

  Watching the two lawmen as they shuffled through the paperwork, he leaned over and whispered, “Yeah, that one. He’s the worst of the bunch.” Stepping back, Monroe added, “I wish you could take care of those ruffians for me…”

  “Terrence Delaney,” Roy mumbled. “Wanted for robbery and murder. Reward of one hundred dollars,” he read aloud. Turning to Matthew, he hissed, “This is a good one. You want to try it?”

  The sheriff was studying the room’s reflection in a grimy, marbled mirror above the bar. He was just about to answer his deputy when he saw all four of the men at the table stand up at once.

  “Watch out, Roy,” he murmured and turned around, pulling his pistol free of its holster. Then Matthew shouted, “You there, Terrance Delaney! Stand still and put your hands in the air!”

  The noise in the saloon stopped and Matthew heard a few muffled cries as many of the patrons slid off their chairs and hustled under their tables. But his heart sank when he heard the terrified screech of a young woman. Delaney, who was the furthest away, had grabbed one of the whores and now held her pressed up against his chest with a bowie knife across her jugular.

  The other three men were edging away but froze in place when Matthew spread his feet wide apart, leveling his pistol at Delany’s head. The girl’s eyes were huge as she stared down the octagonal barrel of death aimed in her direction.

  “You can do one of two things right now, Delaney,” Matthew spoke quietly. “You can let that girl go and come with us where you will be tried by a jury of your peers or…” The sheriff took a step forward and closed one eye, staring down the barrel of his gun with the other. “I will shoot you dead where you stand.”

  Roy cocked his rifle with a loud, snapping rattle and customers scrambled out the front door with squeals of fright. Bandit, suddenly startled, began to growl and snarl on the porch. Then Bob came running in with his deputy’s star in full view. Like an angel, he was briefly illuminated by the lamplight inside the saloon before one of the outlaws pulled a hidden pistol out of his coat pocket and shot him in the chest.

  “No!” Matthew screamed and shot Delaney in the face; Roy’s rifle boomed and chaos ensued. The remaining patrons fled as Matthew stepped over to the man he had shot and nodded in satisfaction. Delaney was dead and so was another of his partners in crime but two of the outlaws had made their escape in the riot.

  As Roy helped the young whore who was shaking with nerves and covered in blood, Matthew ran quickly to where Bob lay on the wooden planks. The boy’s eyes were open and he said, “Sheriff, I’m alright. I think he just winged me.”

  “Shhh, let me see,” Matthew whispered and gently peeled the boy’s coat away from the wound. He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until it rushed out of his lungs in relief. Bob was right; it was only a flesh wound although a good five inches of skin was torn open in a long, bloody furrow a couple of inches deep.

  “Somebody get me a clean cloth and fetch a doctor…NOW!” Matthew roared.

  “I’m sorry, sir…” Bob murmured, his cheeks pale with pain and worry.

  Matthew smiled at his young deputy and said, “You have nothing to be sorry about, Bob. If anything, this is my fault.” Shaking his head, the sheriff said, “You are correct, though. This wound of yours will not kill you but you will be down for a while. I’m sorry, too.”

  Bob’s eyes filled with tears and Matthew understood they were not tears of pain, but of frustration and disappointment.

  Monroe ran up and handed Matthew a small pile of clean rags which he carefully pressed to the boy’s wound. Then Bandit was by his side, whining anxiously.

  “Good Lord, Bandit. Can’t you ever behave?” Matthew whispered softly as the wolf nudged at Bob’s arm.

  Then he heard hoof beats and shouting outside, followed by two men angrily calling for peace and quiet. Looking up, Matthew saw a skinny, middle-aged man staring down at where he sat on the floor next to Bob. Bandit snarled at the expression on the man’s face.

  “What is the meaning of this?” the newcomer demanded.

  Matthew sighed and cursed himself for a fool. He was not kidding when he told Bob that he, himself, was to blame for the fiasco. He realized now that his blood was boiling and had been since he first took off on this mission. He was consumed with rage and the need for justice…so much so he had made two potentially fatal mistakes on their first day out: freeing the Indian hostages, then trying to make an arrest in a crowded bar.

  He understood that he would need to make an account of his actions to the town’s acting sheriff or he and his men might be detained until his Uncle Jon sorted things out. A small kernel of cold fury in his soul burned bright with righteousness but the cooler part of his intellect informed him that, if he didn’t slow down and start thinking things through, he might just get himself and his posse killed. He was about to stand and introduce himself to the other sheriff when a half-dressed man scurried through the doors, reeking of whiskey and livid at being rousted out of bed. Yet he was tender enough when he fell to his knees and started treating Bob’s wounds.

  Matthew stood up and showed his star to the sheriff. Then he stuck his hand out and introduced himself. “My name is Matthew Wilcox, sir, and these are my deputies, Roy and Bob.”

  The man stared up at him and his hostile expression faded. “O’Brian is my name and this here is Sam Winston. What in blazes are you doing in this shithole, Sheriff?”

  Matthew saw the hurt expression on Monroe’s face, but gritted his teeth and smiled. “We were coming in to make your acquaintance but mistook this outpost for a town in the dark. Then we saw Delaney sitting back there and decided to serve our warrants on him and his buddy.” Hating to do it, he nevertheless swallowed his pride and said, “I see now, I made a mistake. You have my apologies, Sheriff O’Brian.”

  O’Brian studied the young man’s face and nodded. “Well. What’s done is done, I reckon.” Staring down at the dead bodies of the two outlaws, he continued, “At least these two skunks won’t be bothering people around these parts anymore.”

  Looking at Matthew and Roy, he said, “Let’s head on into town. It’s only three or four miles from here and we can set you up with some warm grub and rooms at the local hotel.” O’Brian gazed at Bob and asked the doctor, “Jones, is that boy fit to travel?”

  The doctor shrugged. “This wound is not life-threatening but I don’t think he should try jumping on a horse quite yet. How about I send him down later in the buggy after I stitch him up?”

  O’Brian turned to Matthew with his eyebrows raised. Matthew nodded and said, “Roy, you stay behind with Bob and make sure he makes it into town safe.”

  Roy replied, “Sure thing, Boss.”

  O’Brian’s deputy and three other men were hauling the two dead outlaws out the front doors by their feet. The skinny sheriff shook his head and sighed. “There’s gonna be hell to pay for this, you know.”

  Matthew frowned and asked why.

  “Well, the leader of this particular outfit has a tendency to take an eye for an eye, especially when it comes to his men.” O’Brian walked over to an empty table, picked up a half-full glass of whiskey, and swallowed it in one gulp. “And to make matters worse, the Army boys down at the fort are up in arms. Seems that six of their soldiers are missing.”

  Chapter 17

  Top Hat:

  The Perverted Twists and Turns of a Psychotic Mind

  The next morning—as Matthew faced the wrath of the fort’s commanding officer, tried to comfort Bob who tossed and turned with feverish agony from his wound, and snuck away to send a telegraph to his Uncle Jon—a rider left town and headed east into the higher, piney hills.

  Sam Winston worked two jobs: one
as a deputy for the Coeur d’ Alene sheriff and the other as runner and roustabout for Kevin Walker, aka Top Hat or—more recently—Razor Head. By far, the one Walker offered paid the most.

  Winston had once been an honest man but, when his wife got tuberculosis, he knew he needed more income to pay for her medicine and the opium that kept her comfortable. She was a little better now, although when he was home he hated to hear her rattling rails and see the bloody hankies staring up at him from wherever she let them fall.

  In addition, Louise had not given him sexual relief since she first grew ill four years earlier. Lord knew he had tried but a man has needs. So when he started fulfilling those needs at the bosom of a certain whore named Little Jeanie—a tongue-in-cheek reference to the size of her enormous breasts—Sam grew more and more convinced that his wife was a burden he no longer wanted to carry.

  He told Jeanie once that he wanted to carry her off and move back to New Orleans and the devil take the hind-most. She studied his face carefully for a moment and then informed him that she had no intention of trading a sure thing for a life with a poor man…married or not.

  This frustrated Sam to no end. He had lots of money but most of it was hidden. After all, how could he explain his sudden wealth? The small town had very big ears and the gossips loved nothing more than to wag their tongues at each other at the slightest whiff of scandal. So he hoarded his ill-begotten wealth, played the part of a law-abiding deputy and tolerated the wife he had come to despise.

  Now, as he rode toward the Mad Hatters’ hideout, he thought about the rich reward he was about to receive. He would tell Top Hat about the Spokane County sheriff named Matthew Wilcox; he would also inform the crew that Delaney and Skeeter were laid low by this same sheriff and his deputy.

  He grinned, thinking, this might just be my big payday! If Top Hat pays me enough, I’ll throw caution to the wind and tell Jeanie about the money I have stashed. Maybe then she will agree to leave town with me and start up fresh in Louisiana.