He figured he would tell Patty as soon as he returned to the house. Just then, he heard the sound of gunfire. Turning Lincoln around, Matthew stared down at the house and barn. He couldn’t see too much from where he sat his horse but he could hear screaming and another round of gunfire echoing off the distant bluffs. “Heeyah!” he shouted and gave Lincoln a light slap with his reins.
They cantered down the hill and around the back of the barn into a scene of blood and chaos. At first glance, it looked like three gunmen had come up the road and shot Patty Hanson where she stood on the front porch. An old man sat on his horse surveying the action with sullen eyes. Matthew heard him shout, “I told you I’d be back…”
Two cowboys were standing on the front steps. One of the men still held a smoking pistol in his hand as he observed the stricken woman. Most of the whores were inside, safe from harm, but Patty’s sons and old Murray were kneeling next to her on the front porch.
“Put your guns down, NOW!” Matthew roared.
There was such authority in his voice, the two buckaroos by the steps backed away with their pistols held low in their hands. They were just about to set the guns on the ground when the older man barked, “What in the hell are you two doing? Don’t give up your firearms, dammit! Put that man in your sites!”
The men looked torn but their boss’ orders carried weight and they tightened their grip on the guns. Now, Matthew was at a disadvantage, and he slid off the far side of his horse. Knowing he had to put a stop to things—quick—Matthew took aim and fired at the man he assumed to be Atkinson. He grinned as the old man tottered in his saddle and gripped his left arm.
“He shot me, boys! Goddammit, he shot me in the arm!” Atkinson howled.
There was a sudden silence as the cowboys tried to figure out what to do, and then Matthew heard a distant scream. Turning to his right, he saw a flurry of activity from the corner of his eye and took off running. The one person he had not seen yet was Hildy, and something about the scream he had just heard tickled his memory. Running around the back of the barn, he saw two more of Atkinson’s buckaroos.
One man was crouched by Hildy’s head, pinning her arms to the ground and the other man was hunched and heaving between the thirteen-year-old girl’s legs. It was obvious to Matthew that the men were raping Hildy and he could hear her thin cries from thirty-feet away. He lifted his pistol and shot the man who held Hildy’s arms down. The cowboy fell backwards, and Matthew took off running.
The man who was, actually, in the act of raping Hildy, either didn’t see what had happened to his partner, or he was too far-gone in his own sexual frenzy to notice the threat that stalked up behind him. He was in mid-heave when Matthew reared back and kicked him as hard as he could in the temple. The man collapsed onto the girl’s body, out cold.
Hildy let out a wail of fright and disgust. The marshal pulled the man’s limp body off her and holding her tight, he whispered words of comfort in her ears as she sobbed. Then he felt a line of fire scorch his left arm and his lap grow wet. Staring in shock, he saw that Hildy had been shot in the back, the bullet entering her body from behind and exiting into his own arm.
A high-pitched whistle rang in Matthew’s ears as he gazed across the girl’s dead body at Colonel Miles Atkinson, who was leaning heavily against the back of the barn and grinning at the work he had just done. His other two men were by his side and both of them were pointing their pistols in Matthew’s direction. Matthew let the girl slide to the ground and then he pulled the 38 from his shoulder harness.
The only thing Matthew could see in that moment was the hideous face of every, single outlaw who had ever done him, or the people he was sworn to protect, wrong. In one swift movement, the marshal lifted both of his pistols and shot Atkinson and his two men full of holes. Then he turned around and shot the rapist too. Standing over the buckaroo he had wounded earlier, Matthew saw that the boy was gut-shot. Knowing he would die anyway, Matthew shrugged and put a bullet in the back of his head.
A few moments later, as Matthew stood gasping within a cloud of acrid gun smoke with the absurd crown of weeds on the brim of his hat, he understood that life, and his accustomed place in it, had just come to an abrupt and violent end.
Chapter 13
Suddenly, an Outlaw
Within a few moments, Trevor, Lucas and Murray appeared from the front of the barn. The youngest tripped over the dead body of one of the Buckaroos and almost went sprawling. Trevor and Murray saw the carnage immediately, though, and stepped over the dead bodies in their way, making for the marshal and the dead girl at his feet.
Trevor stared at his little sister and tears filled his eyes. Behind him, Lucas said, “Oh no… Hildy!” The old Negro’s lips drooped in sorrow as well and he crouched low to pick her up off the ground. Shooting the marshal a glance, he murmured, “Best come back to the house with us, Suh. The Mrs. will want to hear about what happened, here.”
Matthew nodded silently and accompanied the others back to the house. Most of the whores were milling about on the front porch, shock and fear written plainly on their worn faces. “What happened, Marshal?” he heard, and, “Oh my God! Is that Hildy?”
Patty was lying on the settee in her front parlor. Her plain white blouse had been removed and a red-tinged square of white cotton covered a bullet wound just under her collarbone. One of the older whores, a woman named Dee, was cleaning blood away from the wound and Matthew heard her say, “It went in the front and out the back, Patty. Thank God I don’t have to dig around in your shoulder for a bullet!”
Patty wasn’t listening, however. She saw her boys enter the parlor and then her groom with Hildy in his arms. Letting out a cry, she pushed Dee away and tried to rise but Matthew took two long steps and held her down as she shouted out in grief. There was another couch by the back wall and Murray laid Hildy’s body down with great care.
Turning around he swept his hat off his head and said, “She gone, Mrs. Little Hildy’s gone.”
Patty’s face was white with shock and sorrow. Falling back on the settee, she stared up at Matthew. “What happened to my little girl, Marshal?”
Matthew decided not to go into too much detail. The end-result was terrible enough. “She was shot in the back, Patty. I am so sorry—you have my deepest sympathies.”
“How did those men get the drop on her like that? I thought you, of all people, could have kept my girl safe!” Tears streamed down her cheeks from angry, brown eyes.
Matthew was wondering the same thing… he was a lawman, an experienced shooter and he had failed in his duties. Then Trevor spoke up, “Ma! Mr. Wilcox killed every single one of those bastards! It ain’t his fault they got to Hildy first!”
Patty eyed the marshal. “Did you kill them all, Matthew? My God—you gotta go! The sheriff will see you hang if’n you don’t!”
Matthew had already started to feel the long arm of the law squeezing the back of his neck. A man like Atkinson didn’t operate on his own. Chances were he had a whole army of men back home just waiting on his return and when that return never came, another army of lawyers and crooked lawmen ready to seek justice.
“Is the sheriff in Atkinson’s pocket, Patty? What I did is justifiable. They came on to your property with malicious intent, shot you and your daughter and… worse. I am a Washington State marshal and well within my rights to use deadly force…”
Patty, who was staring at the still form of her daughter shifted her gaze to him and murmured, “What do you mean worse, Marshal?”
Matthew, who had not intended to mention the rape he witnessed, cursed his loose tongue. There was enough damage done already, without having to torture Patty’s memories with images of her daughter’s final moments. He looked at the other people in the room and asked if he could have a private moment with Patty.
Lucas, Trevor, Dee and Murray filed out of the room and Matthew pulled a chair up to the side of the couch. Looking into Patty’s sad eyes he said, “Patty, two of those bucks were r
aping Hildy when I came around the back of the barn. I didn’t want to burden you with that knowledge but the rape, on top of everything else, would exonerate me… at least in a court of law.”
Fresh tears welled up in the woman’s eyes as she absorbed the information. It was true, she thought. Blood had soaked the blanket in which Hildy was wrapped, and Patty realized, had the marshal not told her directly, she would never have investigated her daughter’s maidenhead… or lack thereof.
She had become accustomed to being treated like a lesser citizen because she was once a whore and ran a brothel. She knew that Atkinson had all the power in the world, whereas she had none. Her first thought was that Matthew Wilcox would be dealt with in a swift and final act of retribution because she, herself, held no sway with the powers that ruled the land.
She had forgotten, though, that Matthew Wilcox had his own power—the star on his coat proclaimed it, and she allowed a small smile of triumph cross her lips even as more tears leaked from her eyes at what had become of her little girl. She also realized that for the first time in over a year, she, what remained of her family and her business were finally safe from harm.
The shock of the last hour or so, and blood loss made her head spin and she lay back on the pillow with a weary sigh. “What are we going to do now, Marshal?”
“You are going to stay right here and rest, Patty.” Matthew replied. “Murray, your boys and I will wrap the bodies up and take them into town. I have some explaining to do, but I don’t want you to worry about that, okay?” Leaning forward slightly, Matthew asked, “Do you mind if I have a look at your wound?”
She nodded and he peeled back the cotton bandage. It was a simple in and out, and Matthew said, “This looks pretty clean, but I think I’ll fetch the doctor back here when I go to town.”
There was no response and he realized that Patty had fallen into a swoon. Matthew stepped into the kitchen, where her friend Dee waited, impatiently. Nodding to the woman to go in and see to her friend, Matthew said, “We need to wrap those bodies up and head into town and the sheriff’s office.”
Murray shuffled his feet. “Suh, I will help you with those fellas but, please don’t make me go into town. The Mrs. might need me here, anyway!”
Studying the visible fear on the black man’s face, Matthew nodded. “That’s fine, Murray. You stay here, but we would appreciate your help getting those men loaded into the wagon.”
“Yes, Suh,” Murray answered and the four of them trooped outside to face the havoc Matthew’s pistols had wrecked on Atkinson and his buckaroos.
~
Matthew and the boys rode into a little town that made Granville look like a small city. The dirt road running though the town of Victory sent up plumes of dust that covered the whole area in a reddish-gray shroud. There was a grand six buildings—a general store, a post-office, a small church and a bar stood on one side of the road, two houses and the sheriff’s office stood opposite.
A number of chairs on the boardwalk in front of the sheriff’s office were occupied, and as Matthew and the boys rode up in the wagon, the chair’s occupants stood up and stared at the back of the wagon, which was, unfortunately, piled high with bodies. Immediately, one of the men (the sheriff, Matthew assumed) undid the leather strap on his holster and rested his right hand on his gun. “Who are you and what have you got in the back of that wagon?” The man shouted.
Matthew eyed the man’s companions who were now holding their firearms and looked prepared to start shooting. “My name is Matthew Wilcox… State Marshal, Matthew Wilcox… don’t shoot!”
The sheriff, a tall, skinny man, studied Matthew’s star and said, “Put your guns away, men. That star is legit.” The deputies did as ordered, but remained standing by the sheriff’s side.
Tensions eased, for the moment, and Matthew stepped down off the wagon. He extended his right hand and shook. The sheriff said, “My name is William Purcell… sheriff in these parts… and I ask again, Sir. What are you doing with a pile of dead bodies in the back of your wagon?”
The man seemed friendly enough, but none too pleased with the trouble that had just ridden up to his front door. Matthew sighed and took his hat off, wiping sweat away from his forehead. Things could go very wrong at this point of the game—if the sheriff was in Atkinson’s pocket; he was likely to be pissed as hell, but maybe…
“I was lying over at Mrs. Patty Hanson’s place, while my gelding recovered from a cougar attack.” Gazing up into Purcell’s weathered face, Matthew paused. “You know of whom I’m referring to, Sheriff?”
Purcell nodded and his eyes slid sideways to the back of the wagon again.
Matthew’s heart rate accelerated, slightly. “Then you probably know, already, that a man named Atkinson has been trying to run Patty off her land?”
“Yessir, I’m aware of that, but Patty never filed an official complaint, so my men and I decided to just wait it out. Surely you know that there are land squabbles every day of the week in these territories?”
Matthew hid his grimace of distaste. “Yes, Sheriff. I know that land boundaries can be a mite… fluid. However, earlier this afternoon, Atkinson and four of his buckaroos rode onto Mrs. Hanson’s property. One of those boys shot Patty in the chest, and two others raped her youngest child, a little girl named Hildy.”
Matthew heard a stifled gasp come from one of the two boys who still sat on the wagon bench. He really didn’t want Hildy’s brothers to hear about what had happened in this way, but he also knew he had one chance (and one chance only) to clear his name.
Continuing, he said, “I shot one of the men who held the little girl down and kicked the other man away, but then Atkinson shot Hildy in the back while I held her in my arms. I ended up dispatching the intruders, Sheriff.” He studied Purcell’s face and thought he saw… relief, maybe.
“They had obviously come onto the property with malicious intent and, as a Washington State Marshal, I was well within my rights, and lawful jurisprudence, to act with deadly force,” Matthew finished.
Purcell said nothing but gestured to his two deputies. “Take a look at these stiffs and see if they are who the marshal thinks. If so, you boys can take that wagon around the back of that house, there.”
He pointed to a two-story house at the end of the road. “The town doc lives there and runs his practice out of one of the downstairs rooms. There’s also a graveyard behind the house, although I’m thinking that Atkinson’s people will be heading to town to fetch his body back home.”
The deputies snooped around the back of the wagon and one of the men said, “Sure ‘nuff, Sheriff. These are Miles and his men.”
“Okay…” Turning to Lucas and Trevor, the sheriff said, “Boys, go and drop your load and then head back here and wait while I have a word with the marshal.
Matthew spoke to Sheriff Purcell for an hour or so, while Trevor and Lucas left the dead men off at the doctor’s office. Purcell informed Marshal Wilcox that the circuit judge was scheduled to make an appearance by the end of the month… two weeks hence.
Purcell made it clear that although he believed Matthew’s tale, and felt that the greedy cattle baron had received his just desserts, Matthew would need to repeat his story to the judge before any charges could be, formally, dropped.
Matthew agreed with the sheriff, knowing that if he were making the call, his decision would be the same. Although Matthew felt that Purcell could have been more pro-active in the whole affair, the fact that Patty Hanson had never pressed charges, ultimately led to a “hands-tied” situation for the sheriff.
However, there was no way he was going to hang around for two, whole weeks until the circuit judge showed. He had his own demons to hunt down and neither the time nor inclination to wait on justice to be served here in Victory, Washington.
He rode home with the boys in the now, empty wagon and talked with Patty about how he supposed things would play out. Then he told her he would not be waiting for the circuit judge to show up… a
nd why. Tears filled Patty’s eyes as he told her about what had happened to Iris, and the outlaws he was in a hurry to apprehend.
Although they both knew that Matthew’s actions would label him as a fugitive from the law, Patty hugged him with real affection and swore she would stand as a witness if he ended up on trial. The whores bid him a fond farewell, and the boys begged him to come back someday. The old Negro groom, who had filled Matthew’s saddlebags to overflowing with food and water, kissed Lincoln’s nose and, staring into the horse’s large brown eyes, wished its master a safe journey.
One pair of cold, green eyes followed the marshal’s diminishing shadow as he rode away with hostility, however. Dixie despised Marshal Wilcox with all her being. Not only had he spurned her advances, he had shot the man she loved (and spied for), dead.
Her lover, Alex, had sworn that once his boss, Miles Atkinson, ran Patty off her property, he would receive a big bonus and once he got the cash, he would come back and marry her. Well, now Alex was dead—shot by the same man who had made her feel like a piece of cow-dung stuck on the bottom of his boot.
Well, she thought, there are two sides to every story and just wait until the Atkinson family hears what I have to say about Matthew Wilcox!
Chapter 14
The New Elite
Allen O’Donnell rested his elbows on the balustrade and stared down at the seething mass of people in his saloon. He grinned. It was a packed house again, just like the night before and the night before that. Good thing, too, he mused. It had cost a pretty penny to hire the can-can girls and dancing band that held his customers captive.
Deadman's Revenge (The Deadman Series Book 3) Page 10