The corruption within the King County Sheriff’s office had apparently sunk its roots too deep for Matthew to penetrate, and after months of presenting one argument after another and making countless train trips into the rainy city of Seattle, he had grown weary, finally, of trying to grab a hold of that slippery, little snake and shrugged it off as a loss.
“I remember you talking about this guy, Pa,” Chance spoke quietly.
Matthew put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Yes, he’s as bent as an old stick, son.” Matthew shook his head, adding, “That’s why you should never put blind faith in anyone, Chance. Just because there’s a nice picture of a man on a wall somewhere, doesn’t mean he’s good or trustworthy. This particular man made his fortune by selling woman as slaves. He almost got rich selling your cousin Amelia!”
Chance nodded. “I remember, Pa. Gosh, I wish you could have proven him guilty!” The boy’s eyes blazed like green embers and his dark, slanting eyebrows lowered in anger.
Over the last few years, Amelia and her husband had made numerous trips to Granville for visits. Since then, Chance had fallen in love with the beautiful young woman, her baby boy and Adam Lowry, the fine young doctor she had married, who also helped Amelia’s father, Lewis Winters, in his medical practice in Marysville, Washington.
Chance was only five years old when Amelia was abducted and, even now, he could hardly believe that something so evil had almost taken his beloved cousin away from hearth and home forever.
Sighing, Matthew nodded. “Me too, son, but that one got away.”
Turning back to Marshal Adams, Matthew smiled and said, “See you in a couple of weeks, sir. If you need me before then, though, just wire Sheriff Smithers, okay? He’ll ride out to the ranch and let me know.”
“Will do, Matthew. Have a good rest.” Adams said and headed back to his office.
Matthew and Chance walked outside and mounted their horses. They rode slowly down the busy streets and Matthew marveled anew at all the grand brick buildings replacing the canvas tents and wooden structures that had been swept away in the great fire of ‘89. They stopped at the mercantile and picked up a bolt of pretty, flower-sprigged cotton for Iris, some special herbs she had ordered and a few sticks of licorice. Then they headed out of town toward home.
Once they hit the road, traffic fell off significantly. Walking their horses, father and son gnawed on the black licorice sticks and chatted amiably about school, outlaws, the winter wheat crop and the fall market. Iris thought the thirty-two calves she was bringing to market would sell at a fair price and she had also talked a number of ranchers in the area into bringing their mares home to the Imes ranch for stud service, rather than having to haul their Quarter Horse stallion out, as in year’s past.
Matthew thought of home and smiled. He understood, suddenly, that his vague longing to stay in Granville and work the farm was real—and undeniable. He had been thinking of retiring from the Marshal’s service for quite a while, but until now, he had thought it was a passing fancy—nothing a little rest wouldn’t cure.
He realized, though, that he was sick of being a lawman. The idea of bringing justice to outlaws, and protecting the solid citizens in his territory from harm was noble in and of itself but it was a dirty business. When he wasn’t immersed in the world of bandits and their schemes, he had to think like one in order to bring them down.
More and more, of late, he found himself dreaming of the golden wheat fields and verdant green hollows of home. He wanted to spread grain for Iris’ girls… the prize flock of Rhode Island Red chickens that pecked and quarreled in the front yard and he wanted to roll up his sleeves and wrestle calves to the mud during branding season. He wanted to be there when their mares foaled and help build the giant grass—hay mounds that spotted the back pasture.
He thought he could work part-time from home as a lawyer, and help Iris as well, if he finished his study of the law with Judge Abernathy—an ornery but sharp old friend of his uncle Jon, who still practiced law in Spokane. It would take about a year, he figured, and then he could hang a shingle on the front porch of his own house. Matthew knew that what he didn’t know about farming, Iris and her farm hands could teach.
Feeling happy for the first time in a while, he turned to his son and said, “How would you feel about your old man becoming a lawyer and staying home for once?”
Chance stiffened and his eyes got big. Turning to Matthew, he said, “Are you serious, Pa?” A huge smile spread over the boy’s face and he added, “That would be fine, sir… and boy, would Ma ever be glad!” Then he frowned. “Don’t you like being a US Marshal anymore?”
Matthew grinned back and said, “Well, I’m getting tired is all and I would like to spend more time at home with your ma.” He shrugged, adding, “It’ll take some time, though, you know. First, I have to give my boss a chance to replace me and then, I will need to study up. I lack about a year of school to actually practice law.” Looking his son in the eye, Matthew said, “Maybe you’ll find your studies a little easier if you knew your old pa was suffering right along with you, eh?”
Chance blushed. He was as smart as a whip but hated being cooped-up in a classroom all day, which was why Matthew and Iris had arranged for him to study at the military academy in Spokane, rather than back home with his friends. A bored Chance was naughty and prone to playing hooky. At least the academy focused on military techniques, firearms and swordplay—all the things that kept Chance’s interest engaged.
A flurry of growls interrupted their musing and Chance said, “There’s that mean old dog of the Parkers’ again. One of these days somebody’s going to shoot him!”
Matthew did not doubt it. He had been so lost in his visions of the future he didn’t realize they were so close to home but hearing that elderly, Blue Tick hound snarling in the weeds brought him back to the present with a start. Realizing it was only a quarter of a mile or so from home, he grinned and said, “Hey, about we stretch these horses out a bit?”
Chance didn’t need to be asked twice. His eyes glinted and he swept his hat off his head. Using it as a whip, he gave his horse a whack and hollered, “I’ll beat you home, Pa!” Then he was off and running.
Matthew gave his own horse, Lincoln, a slight kick. The horse was ugly by most standards with a dappled red and white “medicine hat”, and a rat-tail but he was fast as greased lightning and one of the smartest animals the sheriff had ever owned. The big gelding snorted and did a little crow-hop, back legs digging into the dirt road. Then it flew after the other horse.
It was no contest. Feeling the wind rushing past his ears and a keen sense of joy, Matthew yelled, “EEEE-Haw!” and flew past his son in a cloud of dust. Entering the high arch that signified the entrance to the Imes ranch, he flew up the dirt road, Chance hot on his tail.
Staring right and left, he felt a sudden chill. Pulling back on his horse’s reins, he held an arm out so Chance would come to a stop as well. To his left he saw a number of cows milling around an empty feed bin and bawling for relief from the milk straining their udders. To his right, he saw the same scene, only this time it was their herd of horses scattered around the paddock nibbling stray shoots of grass instead of hay and kicking in frustration at the empty water trough.
“What’s going on, Pa? The critturs ain’t been fed!” Chance breathed.
“Haven’t been fed,” Matthew answered automatically through fear-frozen lips. His heart was pounding in his ears, because he had just spied the tips of some one’s boots in the grass by the side of the road. Turning to Chance, he said, “Stay right here, son. I need to check something out.”
Chance had already seen for himself, though, and spurred his horse ahead.
“Chance! Goddammit…” Matthew muttered under his breath and trotted Lincoln to where his son sat his horse, looking down at the body on the ground with tears in his eyes.
He glanced at Matthew and whispered, “Somebody killed old Lenny, Pa!”
Matthew dismounte
d and checked the old man’s throat for a pulse but he knew that Lenny was shot dead and had been gone for quite some time. The body was stone cold and flies lifted in a black, lazy cloud from the man’s mouth, eyes and nostrils. Feeling a cold chill, Matthew straightened up and looked over at the house.
“How many folks did your ma have helping around here, Chance?”
“Just Lenny, sir, as far as I know.” Chance said.
Matthew took off walking, staring straight ahead at the house. He could hear Bandit’s pups yipping and howling from their pen in the backyard, and couldn’t help but wonder, where’s Bandit?
Iris’ chickens came running across the yard and crowded around Matthew’s legs in querulous complaint, but he ignored them and stepped up on the porch. Standing just outside the front door and seeing dried smears of blood around the doorknob, Matthew’s heart froze.
Telling himself that there must be a logical explanation and that the fear he felt was just an over-active imagination run amok, did not quell the tremors that shook his body. Hearing his son step up behind him, he held his arm out and murmured, “I need you to stay out here, Chance.”
Then, taking a deep breath, Matthew Wilcox opened the door and stepped straight into hell.
Chapter 3
Josh and Earl~
Earl rolled over on his sweaty pillow and groaned. His whole face throbbed with pain and his lips were swollen and cracked. His nose… what was left of it, anyway, was numb and he reached a hand up to feel around and see if the fragile stiches holding his proboscis in place had given way or if the ruined flesh was buried somewhere in the tangled sheets and blankets on his bed.
“Josh! Bring me more of that junk!” he croaked.
Joshua stuck his head around the doorjamb and said, “We’re out, boss. You want me to go and buy some more?”
“Yes, goddammit, I’m dying here!”
Josh didn’t think Earl was fixing to die, but acknowledged the man might feel that way. That big dog, the one Earl said was actually a timber wolf had come flying out of nowhere and latched on to Earl’s face when he was trying to have his way with that red-haired woman.
This had forced Josh to pull his gun and shoot the woman dead but it took some time to get a shot off at that horrible beast eating away at Earl’s face. Man and beast had rolled back and forth on the floor of that kitchen, Earl screaming like a banshee and the wolf snarling like a demon from hell.
Finally, Earl was able to sink a knife in the wolf’s side, which caused the animal to slink away for a second, whining. Then, it gathered itself to spring on its quarry once more, which finally gave Josh enough time to empty his revolver into its sorry hide.
These events had taken place four days ago, in a little town about thirty miles from Spokane. Shivering, Josh still felt like what had happened was some sort of dark dream from which he could not awaken. Josh had never hurt a woman before and Earl had not said that anything like that would be taking place when they rode up to that pretty farm.
Apparently, the red-haired woman was the wife of an old enemy of Earls named Matthew Wilcox. Earl claimed that she deserved to die, but Josh wasn’t so sure. He had been sent to the front door of her house, while Earl lurked outside. He was instructed to ask for work in exchange for food, which he did, but the woman had insisted on inviting him inside and sitting him down at the kitchen table for a nice meal of cold, fried chicken and spud salad.
She was so pretty and sweet as she bustled around her sunny kitchen that Josh hated to see her get hurt. He was sitting at her wide plank table, undecided, when he heard a volley of shots fired from outside. He watched as she paused, staring out the window, and then moved swiftly to the back of the room, reaching up to grab the rifle sitting on a shelf above the door.
He knew then, that the decision had just been made for him. He flew up out of his chair, wrestled the rifle out of her hands and cold-cocked her on the chin. He had no sooner placed the woman’s limp body on the floor than Earl stepped into the room. He stared at the woman and grinned.
“Looks like it’s just her and that old man on the premises,” Earl jeered. “And he ain’t any threat now.”
“Does that mean we can go on, then, since your sheriff ain’t here?” Josh crossed his fingers behind his back. He really didn’t want to see the nice lady come to any harm, and he didn’t like the look that had come over Earl’s face.
“Well… we’ll take off soon enough, I reckon. First though…” He unbuckled his belt and popped the buttons on his britches. “I don’t know how long it’s been since I had a taste of something this fine…”
Josh felt a stirring in his own loins as Earl hoisted the woman’s skirt’s up and pulled her long johns down to her ankles. Her legs were as white as snow and the hair at her crutch was as red as a handful of new copper pennies.
Earl was about to set to, when that God-awful wolf came a’running in the back door. The rest of that day’s events seemed to dissolve into a hazy cloud of red-tinged images that Josh could hardly countenance as happening to him.
Just as the animal jumped on Earl, the woman awoke. Sitting up with a gasp, she grabbed the rifle that lay a couple of feet from where she sat on the floor. She heaved it up to her shoulder, and Josh had no choice… biting his lip in regret, he shot her in the stomach, and then, again, in the chest.
The wolf had paused for a moment then, turning around with blazing yellow eyes to stare first at the woman lying dead on the floor and then at Josh, where he stood with his pistol still belching smoke. Even now, Josh understood that the animal was grief-stricken, and he knew he would carry the look in those wise, golden eyes until the end of his days.
Then, it turned around and renewed its attack on Earl’s face, before Josh was finally able to put it out of its misery. He emptied his pistol into the wolf’s body but still, as Josh searched for the knobby piece of Earl’s nose the wolf had torn off, it managed to crawl over to where the woman lay in a pool of her own blood. The last thing Josh heard as he hauled Earl’s bloody carcass out the back door was the sound of the animal’s pitiful whimpers as it lay dying at its mistress’ feet.
Josh started as Earl snapped, “Well, are you just going to stand there, staring into space like the village idiot, or are going to get me some dope for the pain?” The man’s words were garbled and red-tinged spit drooled out the corner of his mouth.
Rushing over to the small leather bag that held most of their cash, Josh pulled out another fiver and said, “Sorry, Earl. I’ll go get your stuff and more of that herbal remedy too.”
Earl snarled, “Be quick about it!”
Looking at Earl’s face, Josh tried to keep his revulsion from showing. The wolf had done horrible damage. Although Josh had managed to sew the man’s nose back on, the stiff protuberance that gave it form had been gnawed away and the flesh hung loosely around Earl’s nasal cavities.
There were deep gouges on both cheeks, and Earls left eyelid hung over the eye like a loose blind. His lips were swollen to three times their natural size and the tip of Earl’s tongue was gone as well. A last dinner for the beast, Josh thought, before it ate no more, ever again.
Josh really did not want to hang around this horrible spectacle of a man anymore, but he did not know how to proceed on his own through life. Especially now, that he was a murderer of women. He knew, though, that Earl might die if he did not find a doctor very soon. Earl had said no to that notion but Josh felt he had no other choice or he would be alone in the world.
Looking away, Josh said, “I’ll be back real soon, Earl.”
~
A couple of hours later, Earl lay staring up at the peeling, fly-shot wallpaper in the hotel room on the outskirts of Ellensburg. He was rubbing at a spot on his chest where a St. Patrick medal had once resided—a gift to him from his old boss, Patrick Donnelly. He was angry with himself for losing it, and trying to remember the last time he had seen it but he had swallowed a large dose of laudanum… too large, actually, and he was soon l
ost in a dream.
He was a child again, living in the slums of Hell’s Kitchen. He and his friends had just been bested in a skirmish against a rival street gang and the bigger, stronger boys were subsequently, teaching them a lesson.
One by one, Earl and his friends were dragged up to a burn-barrel that glowed like the fires of Hades in a back alley. The young tough who claimed to be king of that gang pulled a red-hot poker out of the barrel and laid the point of the brand against each of the smaller boy’s cheeks. He said, “This will show our bosses you been here before—and now if they see this brand on your faces, they will know to kill you for trespassin’.”
Earl moaned, the inflamed skin on his face and neck chafing hotly on the pillowcase. The childhood dream fled and then Earl was staring at the long, wrinkled muzzle of a devil-dog from hell. Its large, amber eyes glared into his, and then its teeth dug down and down until Earl screamed in agony, watching as his whole head came loose in the wolf’s jaws.
He stared as the wolf walked away a few feet and then turned around to glare at Earl’s body in scorn. Then, a hand reached down and shook his shoulder. Startled awake, Earl reached for the knife at his side, and came up off the bed with a savage snarl.
“Whoa, whoa!” a voice said. “I’m here to help with your wounds!”
Earl fought against the drugs heavy embrace and finally managed to open his eyes. A man stood by the side of the bed, staring down at him. “What do you want?” he muttered.
“Well, your young man here tells me you have cash to pay for surgery and some stitch work. He told me how you two come up on a she-bear a couple of days ago and it almost took your head off. The name’s, Talbot…Dr. Lawrence Talbot.”
Earl stared over at Josh who stood fidgeting by the door. He was impressed, in spite of himself, for the valid-sounding lie the moron had thought up. Then he studied the character looming over his bed and he wasn’t sure he liked what he saw. Middle-aged, the man looked like he’d seen better days and his coat and shirtsleeves were dirty and frayed at the seams. He had long, greasy hair and a face like an old coonhound.
Deadman's Revenge (The Deadman Series Book 3) Page 3