February, 2010

Issue #5

Deadeye Dick
& the Stranger from Coyote Gulch
by Russell Gayer

Horsehead was a sorry excuse for a town. Only a few people remained after the silver mine petered out. One particular member of the populace was a lowlife by the name of Deadeye Dick. He said his Pappy gave him the name Deadeye because he was such a good shot, but most people figured it was because his left eye was locked in a constant stare at his nose.

Deadeye was a peculiar acting fellow whose sole occupation was gambling. Lord knows he wasn’t very good at it. Usually at the end of a long night of playing cards and drinking Deadeye would stagger back to his one room shanty, located directly behind the public outhouse, totally penniless.

Nobody knew for sure where Dick got his stake money, but every night he seemed to come up with a few dollars to lose. Some folks thought he got it from poor little Charlene who worked at the cat house across from the saloon. She had a face like the south end of a northbound steer and wasn’t exactly a genius. However, if a man had four or five stiff shots, her looks always seem to improve to the point where she could make a living.

She thought a lot of old Deadeye even though she knew he was a sorry as the day was long. He’d often tell her how he was gonna hit the big jackpot someday, when in fact the only green he ever had to show was when he opened his mouth to smile.

Tuesday, the twelfth of June, started out like any other uneventful day in Horsehead. The sun came up, the working people went about their business and the loafers loafed. About two o’clock a horse and rider came trotting in from the south side.

The stranger was a handsome devil with a black shiny handlebar moustache. He wore a long dark coat and a fancy silk vest. On his right leg was strapped a pearl-handled Colt and the shine on his boots would put out a cat’s eye at fifty yards.

Old Lady Nelson, the town gossip, happened to be standing in front of Wilson’s mercantile when he rode by. He tipped his hat and offered a complimentary, “Afternoon, Ma’am.” Her eyes widened to the size of saucers and her jaw fell to her chest. She was rendered temporarily speechless by the sunlight reflecting off the gold tooth on the right side of his smile. You can bet her dress tail didn’t touch the back of her legs until she had all the old hens in town cackling. Pretty soon Horsehead was buzzing like a horsefly.

The stranger tied up his horse in front of the boarding house and went inside to see about a room and a meal. He signed the register as Jack Huntington and asked Widow Jones, the proprietress, what time supper would be served. Then he went up to his room to get a little rest.

Meanwhile, Deadeye was just crawling out of bed. He poured a little water into the wash pan and splashed his face a couple of times before drying off with an old rotten towel that had been hanging on the bedpost for about a year. He pulled on his boots and stood up to look at his reflection in the broken piece of mirror that hung over the wash pan. Picking up what was left of an old nickel comb he raked it across his head, carefully pulling the few remaining strands of hair over the growing bald spot on top. Then he picked up his old hat and gently lowered it onto his freshly groomed noggin.

“Think I’ll go see Charlene,” he mumbled as he headed down the empty street of Horsehead.

Word of the handsome stranger had already reached the cat house. The ladies were chattering and giggling like a bunch of schoolgirls getting ready for their first date. Slipping into their finest lace bloomers and best Sunday dresses and adding just a touch of some expensive French perfume that had been imported all the way from St. Louis.

“What’s going on here,” asked Deadeye. “Did the circus come to town?”

Charlene proceeded to inform him of the events of the day and the financial implications of such an opportunity. Obviously, Jack Huntington was a man of some wealth and perhaps could be persuaded to part with some of it for proper services rendered.

“Humph,” grunted Deadeye. Nevertheless, he knew better than to offer his opinion of Charlene’s chances. After all, he still needed a few dollars for tonight’s game.

“Tell you what, Honey” he drawled, “I bet this fellar is a gambler. Now, you know I’m due for a hot streak. If you’ll just loan me a few dollars I bet I can clean his clock at the poker table tonight and if he’s got any money left after that you girls can have a shot at him.”

Throwing any pretense of common sense and good judgment to the wind, she reluctantly agreed and reached into her coin purse for a twenty dollar gold piece.

“Now Charlene” he whispered, “This fellar Jack is probably a high roller. I may need a little more bait to get him to take the hook.” She quickly handed him another gold coin and rushed upstairs before he could negotiate further.

Content with forty dollars in his pocket he headed across the street to the saloon.

There was a big crowd at the Yellow Dog, especially for a weeknight. All the regulars, Bill Johnson, Todd Patrick, Clem Henson, and his boys were there. None of them said much about the stranger, but they all had about the same agenda as Deadeye Dick.

Four or five of them got a table in the corner and started playing nickel and dime hands as a warm up for what they perceived as the main event. Deadeye actually won a dollar or two before bowing out to take an “alley break.” He was off to a good start and he didn’t want to waste a hot streak on these two-bit locals. He had bigger fish to fry.

About eight-thirty the swinging doors parted and the guest of honor arrived in grand fashion. He looked much as Mrs. Nelson had described, but with a thin cigar stuffed in his mouth opposite the gold tooth.

He carried himself like a man schooled in social graces and a high level of self-confidence. Stepping to the bar, he ordered a bottle of Kentucky whiskey and a glass, then turned to watch the activity at the corner table. After observing two or three hands he strode over to the table.

“Good evening, gentlemen. Would you be so kind as to allow a lonely traveler an opportunity to join you in this game of chance?” he asked.

“Why certainly, friend” offered Todd Patrick. “Pull ya up a chair. We’re playing seven card stud, nothin’s wild. Deadeye, you want in?”

“Well, I reckon” replied he, trying to be nonchalant.

Todd dealt the first hand and things went well for Deadeye. He wound up with two pair, Queens and sevens, which were enough to win the pot.

Conversation and booze flowed freely over the next hour with Jack Huntington relating that he was a cattleman from a place in New Mexico called Coyote Gulch. Nobody believed a word of it. He had the look of a gambler, a gunfighter, or both.

Jack was two thirds of the way through his bottle of whiskey when he suggested that they raise the stakes. Bill and Todd lost one more round before they decided it was getting too rich for their blood and bowed out. That left only Jack, Deadeye and Clem Henson.

By now the ladies from the cat house were starting to get impatient. They hadn’t seen a single customer all night. All the men were hanging out at the Yellow Dog and no one seemed interested in female companionship. The girls were also chomping at the bit to get at Jack Huntington, and if he wouldn’t come to them, then by golly, they would go to him.

The men were heavily embroiled in a high stakes hand when the ladies sashayed through the side door. (They had been politely asked NOT to come through the front entrance as it might interfere will the home life of some of the regular patrons!) Shaking their skirts and laughing loudly they did their best to draw the attention of every red blooded man in the room.

Deadeye had drawn a King, Queen, and ten of hearts on the first deal. He bet ten bucks, which Clem quickly matched, but Jack raised them both by ten. You could see Clem’s left eye start to twitch as he threw in another ten. Deadeye made his contribution, everyone discarded, and Jack dealt the final cards. The first one Deadeye peeked at was the Ace of Hearts. Unfortunately, the next one was a seven of spades.

He stared blankly at the cards then glanced across the table at Jack. Jack appeared to have his eyes locked in on someone, or something, across the room. Deadeye turned to his left and saw Charlene cheerfully swirling from table to table, flirting with customers, and returning lustful eye contact with Jack. Deadeye’s blood began to boil.

“Are we gonna play cards or stare at whores?” he howled.

“What’s your hurry, friend?” replied Jack, with a big gold-toothed smile shooting back across the table. “The night is young and we’ve got plenty of time for both.”

Clem folded right off the bat. It was down to Jack and Deadeye. Knowing that his stake was dwindling, and it was now or never, Deadeye decided to go for broke and opened with a twenty.

“Hey, little lady,” Jack called to Charlene. “Why don’t you come over to our table? I bet you’re lucky. Maybe you could share a little of that luck with a lonesome stranger. Come sit on my lap while I finish this hand.”

She batted her eyes like a smooth southern belle and made her way across the room to Jack’s chair. Sinking softly onto his right knee she backed into his torso with a gentle wiggle.

Deadeye’s nostrils flared and his temples throbbed. He was experiencing feelings that he’d never known before. Anger, hatred, and jealousy. To him this game was no longer about money. It was about Charlene.

“I’ll meet your twenty and raise you twenty more,” announced Jack as he slid his right arm around Charlene’s waist.

“Call,” answered Deadeye with a burning stare. “Whatta ya got?”

“Just Jacks. Like me, ha ha hah,” laughed Huntington as he fanned the cards out on the table. Deadeye swallowed hard. Three large Js jumped from the table and into the pit of his stomach.

Charlene giggled with glee and threw her arms around Jack’s neck as he raked the pot from the table. That was more than Deadeye could take.

“Charlene! Get off his lap!” he snarled, in a hateful demanding tone. The room suddenly became as silent as a morgue.

Jack lowered his eyebrows and glared across the table. “I don’t know who you think you are, friend, but if the lady’s comfortable she’s welcome to sit right here as long as she’d like. She doesn’t have to take orders from a green-toothed loser like you.”

Deadeye shoved the table into Jack’s stomach with all his might. Charlene fell to the floor and quickly scrambled for safety behind the bar. Jack threw the table aside while dodging a right hook from Deadeye. The two men struggled to their feet and exchanged blows while the bartender did his best to herd them in the general vicinity of the front door. A swift jab to the gut followed by a strong upper cut sent Deadeye flying backwards through the swinging doors and into the dusty street.

Jack followed him out, intent on finishing the job. He drew his revolver and fired. The bullet ripped through the left side of Deadeye’s shirt, but barely grazed his ribs. He dove behind a nearby water trough just as shots two and three cut through water and wood.

Jack cautiously circled the end of the water trough like a cat toying with a rattlesnake. There was little moon that night and the only light in the street was from a smoldering torch hung from the facing of the saloon door. Deadeye crouched in the shadow of the trough and pounced on Jack as he rounded the corner. They wrestled fiercely in the darkness struggling for control of the gun. Finally a shot rang out, then two. Both men lay motionless in the dust.

The saloon crowd had been anxiously watching from the porch, but no one had worked up enough curiosity, or courage, to pry the bodies apart and see if there were any winners. So the bartender summoned the sheriff and the doctor/mortician to the scene.

Jack Huntington was lying directly on top of Deadeye. The sheriff grabbed him by the shoulder and rolled him off. It was hard to see in the semi-darkness so the sheriff asked a couple of the men to help carry the bodies onto the porch. Once there the doctor quickly spotted a blood-soaked circle on Jack’s silk embroidered vest just below the third button. A bullet had evidently hit the heart, a lung, or both. He was as dead as a hammer.

Meanwhile, Charlene was kneeling over Deadeye. Tears streamed down her cheeks and dropped gently onto his battered face. Above her sobbing she thought she heard something. A gurgling, grunting noise. And it was coming from Deadeye!

“Rachel, bring me some water,” she called. “I think Deadeye may still be alive!” The water arrived in a heartbeat and Charlene took Deadeye’s head in her lap and began wiping his face with a damp washcloth. Slowly his moans became louder and in a little while he opened his eyes.

“Charlene,” he whispered. “I thought I’d lost ya.” Then closing his eyes he lost consciousness.

Charlene asked Clem and Todd to help carry him to her room across the street. For the next two days she did nothing but nurse Deadeye back to health. As soon as he was able to sit up and take nourishment the sheriff came calling.

“Well, Dick, you’re a lucky man,” smiled the sheriff. “No one has ever tangled with Henry Miles and lived to tell about it.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Deadeye. “Who the hell is Henry Miles?”

“That stranger you killed,” replied the sheriff. “His real name was Henry Miles, not Jack Huntington. He was wanted in New Mexico and Nevada for murder and extortion. And what’s even more interesting is that at one time he had been a U.S. Senator from Indiana and was expelled from Congress for sexual misconduct and racketeering. Yeah, Deadeye, you killed yourself a pretty famous man. Now, what ya gonna do with the reward?”

“What reward, how much?” he stammered as he popped up straighter in bed.

“Oh, ‘bout ten thousand dollars” said the sheriff. “Course it will be a few days before you get the money. Looks like you still got some more healing up to do anyway.”

The sheriff left, and Deadeye and Charlene began jabbering like a couple of excited chipmunks arguing over an acorn.

News of Deadeye’s daring deed soon came to the attention of a writer from Boston. He wrote a glorious account of how the handsome and courageous Deadeye Dick single-handedly took down the notoriously evil Henry Miles with only his bare hands. A legend was quickly born.

Deadeye and Charlene were married in the spring and bought a small but comfortable cottage outside Silver Springs. Due to his enormous popularity, local politicians urged him to run for state office. Within two years of that fateful night in Horsehead, Deadeye Dick had become a household name, and eventually a three-term governor of a western mining state.

After retiring from politics, Deadeye and Charlene moved to Palm Springs, California. A day would seldom go by without Deadeye reminding Charlene of his promise to her years before in Horsehead.

“I’m gonna hit the big jackpot someday!” Sure enough, he did.

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