The sheriff moaned and shivered. Now he dreamed that he was a lost boy, once again stuck on a mountain top in a blinding blizzard, his only friend and companion an orphaned wolf cub. He was so cold his teeth chattered and Bandit whined anxiously as he stared into Matthew’s face.
Doc Dearbourne gently scooted the wolf out of his way as he removed the bloody bandages from the sheriff’s left side and murmured, “If he makes it past this fever, he has a fighting chance.”
Roy frowned down at the young sheriff he had come to care for like a brother.
“What will it take, Doc? Do you need more medicine?” The deputy crushed his hat in his hands and glared outside at the racket the townsfolk and some of his fellow deputies were making in their efforts to clean up the small town that had almost burned to the ground in the conflagration.
Dearbourne sighed. “No. The bullet came out clean and I have given him enough opium to cope with the pain.” He walked over to the woodstove that was blazing hot despite the afternoon heat.
Grabbing a cup of coffee, he added, “This young man seems to have given up. He suffered more than a gunshot wound, you know. With those broken ribs and the cut on his back that was starting to fester, the gunshot was just too much for his body to fight.”
Roy stared down at Matthew again and bit his lip. Despite the fact that ten people—not including the bandits—had died, Matthew had pulled off a miracle. The town’s citizens, all of whom would have perished had the sheriff not risked everything to save them from certain doom, were back home and rebuilding even as Matthew lay dying.
Coeur d’Alene sheriff, Mellon O’Brian, Travis, and a number of Spokane County deputies had ridden into town yesterday to help restore order. Even the Spokane County mayor and his retinue had arrived late last night to pay their respects and officiate in the funerals that were scheduled to take place tomorrow morning.
“Can he hear me?” Roy whispered.
“Maybe. It’s hard to tell when patients go into this kind of shock.” Dearbourne sighed again. “It wouldn’t hurt. Maybe if he hears your voice, he’ll make his way back to us.”
“Can I try?” Iris Imes appeared in the doorway. Her eyes were red and puffy from the tears she had shed but she stood tall.
Roy gazed at the woman and remembered his own sweet wife and children as they tumbled out from the coach yesterday after the thirty-mile trip from Spokane Falls. He had been tempted to yell at Louise for undertaking such a long and expensive journey in order to fetch him home but his loved ones had screamed with joy at the sight of him and he recalled how his frozen heart had thawed as his family held him in their arms.
So, moving back, Roy murmured, “Yes, ma’am. If Matthew can hear anyone, I reckon it would probably be you.”
Iris entered the room and sank down on the edge of the bed as the deputy and the doctor stepped outside. The beautiful redhead took Matthew’s hand and started telling him about the two new foals she had found at home after she escaped from the barn. She talked about the good yield on her wheat fields, and about the spotty new calves that ran after their mothers in the higher hills behind her ranch.
She told the young man that she needed a helping hand but his were the only hands she wanted on her body. She whispered in his ear that she had loved him for years and, once he got better, she would show him a thing or two about the marriage bed. She talked long into the evening and, finally, she curled up next to him on the bed and fell asleep, her fingers entwined with his. She didn’t know it, but Matthew’s fever broke soon after.
Slowly regaining consciousness, Matthew felt Iris’s warm weight next to him. Looking down, he also saw Bandit staring into his eyes, panting. He fumbled around on the small table next to the bed and found a cup of water. Trying not to awaken the woman he loved, Matthew took a long drink and then allowed his wolf to climb up.
He fell asleep with those he adored nestled beside him.
Chapter 34
A Final Farewell
Two days later, Matthew got out of bed. He was on the mend as was his town.
The new barn was already under construction, although under new ownership. An enterprising stable master had arrived from the Wenatchee area just after the funeral services concluded. He bought the land the burned barn sat on and took a big financial burden off the town coffers by footing most of the rebuilding cost himself.
The west end of the mercantile was being repaired, too, as smoke had damaged much of the outside walls. Even the small cemetery just outside the city limits was undergoing improvements. For one thing, it was growing rapidly and, for another, the Spokane Falls mayor had donated black, scrolled wrought-iron fencing brought in as a gesture of respect and sympathy from the citizens of that city.
The people of Granville had been tested but they were survivors. They had to be. For the last three days, ever since the barn burnt and the outlaws were killed, the streets rang with shouts of joy and defiance. There were tears, yes, especially when so many good people were laid to rest at the mass funeral. Life went on, though, and now it was time to recover and rebuild.
Matthew had shakily made his way to the graveyard yesterday for the funerals but was still so weak from his wounds he was forced to take a chair like an old woman and pay his respects sitting down. He held his hat in his hands and remembered his deputies: Bob Higgins, Evan McCauley, and Murray Kotes.
He remembered sweet little Maggie who, more often than not, carried evidence of her family’s trade on her flour-coated cheeks, nose and chin. And he silently thanked the tough and irascible Irish brothers, Davey and Joseph O’Connell, who had fought so hard against not being able to use their hidden poop-chute but had been so brave in trying to help subdue the outlaws.
He recalled Christopher Rundell, the kindhearted grocer who often gave his merchandise away for free despite his wife’s constant nagging. In addition, he remembered Archie Almquist, the cobbler, who stuttered so badly he could hardly make himself understood but did such a fine job in boot and shoe repair that people as far away as Spokane Falls made a special trip into Granville for his services.
Finally, they lowered his aunt and uncle’s coffins into the ground. Matthew thought he was prepared for it but, as memories of his Uncle Jon’s many virtues swamped his mind, he thought his heart might break at the injustice of it all. His eyes got big as a huge gasp of grief threatened to overwhelm his senses and he started to tremble.
Many of the mourners let their tears fall as they remembered what good and kind people the Wilcoxes had been and gazed over at their young sheriff who visibly fought for control. They saw Doc Dearbourne bend over and whisper in Matthew’s ear, then watched as he and Iris Imes helped the sheriff to his feet.
Matthew and Bandit walked over to the gravesite. As he grabbed a handful of dirt and tossed it into the open grave, the wolf raised its muzzle and howled. Bandit cried, and so did the people around him.
Ten miles away, a band of Indians paused what they were doing and listened as the wolf’s howl carried over the hot air currents, scattering the flocking buzzards that looked down on them from high overhead.
Now Matthew walked outside and slowly heaved himself up onto his horse’s back. His broken ribs were starting to heal but the gunshot wound in his left side still sang madly with a special brand of pain. Sitting still for a moment, Matthew caught his breath and then leaned over to let his wolf sniff the kerchief Top Hat once wore around his neck.
Bandit whined and took off to the east, nose to the ground. Matthew did not have much hope that his wolf could actually track down the outlaw as too many days had passed since Top Hat fled for the wolf to follow the man’s scent. Yet he had to try.
A new arrest warrant had been issued against the gang leader and the sheriff knew that open season had just been declared; this was a “dead or alive” warrant. So, if anything, he was putting himself in a bounty hunter’s crosshairs by going out without an escort.
Still, Matthew knew that the doctor would have forbidden
him to go and Iris would have hog-tied him to his bed if she caught wind of his plans. As he lay in his bed the last few nights, however, Matthew knew he would never rest until his uncle’s murderer… the boogieman, who had haunted his every waking moment since he was a boy, was apprehended.
The only citizen in town who heard his passing was the old dog, Muffin. Matthew had brought him home after the funeral and he whined as the sheriff and his wolf passed by the backyard of Matthew’s house.
“Shhh, Muffin. Go to bed,” Matthew murmured as they moved silently out of town, east into the foothills.
Matthew followed Bandit about nine miles at an easy walk and, at first, thought the wolf had a good scent to follow. Then he realized the animal was doing a big loop in front of him and whining…the trail was lost and Matthew gritted his teeth in frustration.
Suddenly Bandit stiffened and growled with alarm. Matthew looked ahead and spotted a number of vultures circling high in the air about five miles distant. He almost spurred his horse yet thought better of it as his whole body throbbed with increasing waves of agony and the chill of fever rising in his bloodstream.
Knowing that he was once again risking everything to find the outlaw who killed his uncle, Matthew smiled just the same with grim determination. Figuring that Top Hat had probably done away with yet another poor pilgrim in order to take everything the man held dear, he nudged his horse forward and prepared himself for the worst.
Coming up over a rise, Matthew held his pistol in his right hand and a rifle cradled crossways on his lap; Bandit was moving rapidly back and forth in front of his horse, panting with anxiety. Looking down, Matthew gaped at what met his eyes.
Top Hat lay spread-eagled on the ground twenty feet from the sheriff. He had been scalped and his genitals cut off and stuffed into his mouth like a bizarre snack. At least twenty-five arrows pierced the outlaw’s body and Matthew could count numerous coup-cuts on Top Hat’s arms, legs and feet.
A few yards away, an Indian war lance stood upright. On the warm afternoon breeze, Top Hat’s newest beaver-skin hat—one Matthew knew was stolen from the mercantile in town—twirled in circles atop the weapon as though possessed by spirits of its own.
Matthew stared down at his old enemy’s body and the back of his neck crawled. Looking around, he wondered if the attacking Indians were nearby as some of Top Hat’s wounds seemed fresh. Yet, there had not been hostile Indians in these parts for many years; there were too many white men and U.S. soldiers in the area. Still, one never knew what might set tempers aflame and ruin a hard-earned truce.
Seeing no one, Matthew’s shoulders sagged in relief and—almost in spite of himself—he did something so primal it was shocking. Letting his head fall back, he screamed out a loud howl of victory. Filled with anger, retribution and revenge, it made his wolf cower and the buzzards overhead scatter in alarm.
Matthew sat still for a bit and let his heart settle down. Then, calling Bandit to heel, he turned his horse around to head home when a dry branch snapped somewhere behind him. Bandit bristled and growled, staring past the brush into a stand of jack pines. Following the wolf’s gaze, Matthew studied the tree line and saw an Indian sitting his pony about fifty feet away.
Red Bird stared across the gap that separated them and looked into Matthew’s eyes. There was apology there…and defiance. Redbird knew he had stolen Matthew’s quarry but he hoped young Slingshot would forgive him; the Indian could not move forward in life either until he killed the man who had murdered his little brother.
Brown eyes met green, held for another moment and—finally—blinked in understanding and forgiveness. Matthew removed his hat, bowed slightly, nudged his horse, and rode away.
Finale
To Every Thing There is a Season
Eleven months later, Matthew sat on the front bench of a wagon. Roy was sitting next to him, snapping the reins over the horse’s rumps and whistling the wedding march as loudly as he could. He grinned obnoxiously as Matthew rolled his eyes and the deputy’s children, sitting in the back, giggled at the sheriff’s discomfort.
Matthew was getting married today and although his heart sang with joy and his sex-starved body tingled with suppressed desire and expectation, he had never liked a fuss. He only hoped that most of the people in town were far too busy to come to the wedding ceremony. After all, it was harvest season and most of the farmers in the area were swathing wheat and hay from sunrise to sundown.
“You ready for this, Matthew?” Roy smirked. “Sure you don’t need help figuring out what goes where?”
Matthew’s cheeks turned red and he glanced over his shoulders at Roy’s kids. “Shhh! I will do just fine, Roy, if you don’t mind!”
Roy and his family had moved to Granville not long after Matthew came home with news that Top Hat was dead. He cared for the young sheriff and knew Matthew needed help and someone he could trust since most of his force had died in the shoot-out. Louise and Iris had become fast friends and so had their children.
As far as Matthew was concerned, Roy was the big brother he never had. He looked up to the man, loved his family, listened to his advice and tried as hard as he could to stand up to his ribbing.
Sighing with embarrassment, Matthew muttered, “I hope you don’t make me look like a fool in front of my sister and the preacher today.”
Roy grinned. “Well, of course, I will!”
The weather was perfect for an outdoor ceremony and Matthew could see that a tent had been raised on the lawn in front of the house as Roy pulled the horses to a stop. Much to his dismay, he also saw close to a hundred people gathered inside that tent. They were grinning at him like a bunch of carnival clowns.
Roy murmured, “Thought you were going to get away with gettin’ hitched without an audience, Sheriff? Fat chance of that happening!”
Matthew stared at the crowd as, one by one, they set down their drinks and plates and started clapping their hands. It seemed like everyone he had ever known was standing there; old friends and new acquaintances, all of them shouting his name and whistling in appreciation of his courage and fortitude. He wanted to melt into the ground or disappear in a puff of smoke, he was so embarrassed. But then Iris stepped out of the tent.
Wearing a cream-colored silk dress, her hair fell over her shoulders and down her back in wild profusion. Daisies were woven through the luxuriant strands and Bandit let out a yelp of joy, running to his new mistress with his tail whipping in undignified adoration.
Iris bent and caressed the wolf’s graying ears then stood straight and tall, smiling at Matthew as he stepped down off the wagon. He still limped slightly from the bullet that had almost killed him but his green eyes gleamed when he looked at his future bride.
Enfolding Iris Imes in his arms, he kissed her with all his being as everyone wiped their eyes and cheered in happiness.
The End
Deadman’s Fury!
A Matthew Wilcox Adventure
A Free sample for you!
Chapter 1
Amelia
Amelia Winters stepped off the train and gazed at the dusty little town with delight. Her adventure had begun and she wanted to twirl around on tiptoe with excitement. She was on her way to live with her father’s younger sister Iris, her husband Matthew, and their family while going to nursing school, about twenty miles outside of Spokane. Although she had been helping her father, Dr. Lewis Winters, in his small medical practice in Marysville, Washington since she was twelve years old, he had decided he needed someone to assist in real medical work like surgeries, triage and post-surgical care.
The logical choice for surgical assistant had been Amelia’s older brother James. Indeed, Lewis Winters had groomed his son for years, but James had enlisted in the army four years ago and was subsequently killed in an avalanche, along with twelve other Cavalry officers, two winters ago while on assignment.
Although Amelia’s heart still stuttered occasionally with grief at the loss of her handsome older brother, she was thr
illed with the prospect of learning her father’s skills and (possibly) becoming a doctor in her own right. It was 1892, after all. A new, bright future - a whole new century - was just around the corner and she, for one, was ready to embrace all the possibilities!
Her daydreams were interrupted by the conductor, a wizened old man with an enormous pocket watch in hand, who said, “Miss, you can go into the café with the others for refreshments and if you need,” he cleared his throat in embarrassment, “the necessary. It’s right behind the building… you can see the corner of it, just there.”
He pointed and Amelia saw the edge of a smallish outhouse behind the larger café/post and telegraph office. Even as she watched, a small, dirty pony bearing a small, dirty man tore around the disembarking passengers and pulled to a stop in front of the post office section of the building in a cloud of dust.
“Thank you, sir” she said politely and stepped forward a few paces to join her fellow passengers. Mrs. Dorothy Jones, a widow, had stopped and was impatiently waiting for the younger woman to catch up.
“One must not dawdle when traveling alone, young lady,” the plump, middle-aged woman admonished.
“I am sorry, Mrs. Jones!” Amelia exclaimed. “The conductor…”
“Never you mind, Amelia,” Mrs. Jones interrupted. “Just stay close by my side. This is a wild place, as are all of these little towns east of the Cascades. My son told me to step sharp and keep an eye out for riff-raff while on my way to his home.”
She sniffed, adding, “Since your father saw fit to send his daughter into the wilds all alone, I feel it is my duty to serve as chaperone until you are well met at the train station in Spokane!”
It was all Amelia could do to keep from rolling her eyes, but she followed the older woman into the café meekly enough and sat next to Mrs. Jones at a table. The widow Jones was nice, if over-protective, and although she was sure she could navigate her way from the train depot in Marysville to the depot in Spokane, she did not have the heart to be rude or rebuff the woman’s good intentions.
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