Return to Crows Creek

  Return to Crows Creek

  Return to Crows Creek is the second in the series following the adventures of Englishman Marshal Daniel Wheetman, who has been given over to President Hayes by Queen Victoria in an attempt to bring justice to the lawless west. However, Daniel’s methods of policing are in complete contrast to those employed by other US sheriffs and marshals; he cannot ride a horse, does not believe in the use of firearms and has a personality that makes the vast majority of cowboys want to blow his head off – but together with his rough, tough deputies, Murphy Patterson and Moses Carver, they travel to Cactus Ridge to solve the problem of the murder of a young woman who had been a leading figure in the temperance movement.

  By the same author

  Crows Creek

  Return to Crows Creek

  John E. Vale

  ROBERT HALE

  © John E. Vale 2018

  First published in Great Britain 2018

  ISBN 978-0-7198-2867-6

  The Crowood Press

  The Stable Block

  Crowood Lane

  Ramsbury

  Marlborough

  Wiltshire SN8 2HR

  www.bhwesterns.com

  Robert Hale is an imprint of The Crowood Press

  The right of John E. Vale to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him

  in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  All rights reserved. This e-book is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Chapter 1

  Murphy’s eyes opened slowly as he began to wake up to a head splitting, nerve shattering, almighty and unearthly sound. His nostrils filled with the smothering smell of smoke and brimstone and the intense heat was almost overpowering as he shook the unconscious body of his fellow deputy.

  ‘Carver,’ he whispered. ‘Carver, wake up. . . I think we’ve done died and gone straight to hell.’

  Carver moaned, turned over, went back to sleep and rattled as he snored.

  In sheer frustration Murphy began to kick Carver’s legs. ‘No, this is it!’ he insisted. ‘I’m telling yer, we’ve died and gone straight to hell.’

  ‘What?’ Carver gasped as he sprang bolt upright in disbelief. ‘You mean Old Nick has come and taken our souls?’

  Murphy looked at the flying embers as they rose high into the air and gulped. ‘I reckon so. The thing is, Carver, I done some stuff I maybe ought not to have done, but I was always told I could ask and would be forgiven. Amen.’

  Carver reached for his pistol. ‘Hey, I ain’t got my iron.’

  ‘Shhh!’ Murphy whispered. ‘I ain’t got mine neither because if’n when you die you have to leave all earthly chattels behind,’ he explained solemnly.

  ‘So why’ve I still got me boots and such?’

  ‘That’s not for me to say, but the point is we’re unarmed and it’s best not rile him none because he’s master of the underworld . . . I was told all about him by preacher Father O’Donnell. That was when I was knee high to a grasshopper and used to go to Sunday school.’

  ‘The hell you say? You went to Sunday school?’

  ‘I do say, and if we had got guns it wouldn’t do no good fixin’ to blast our way outta here, because what we need to do is beg for our souls to be spared.’

  ‘The hell you say?’ Carver replied as he began to mull matters over. ‘Hey, Murphy, what do ya reckon we died of?’

  Murphy rubbed his chin and shook his head. ‘I ain’t sure, but maybe we fell out of a tree.’

  ‘A tree? Why in the name of hell would we have fallen from a tree?’

  ‘Because I once fell out of a tree when I was ten, tryin’ to look into Tyler Oldburn’s sister’s bedroom. I landed in a pile of horse shit and I ached somethin’ crazy, like I do now.’

  ‘We both couldn’t have felled from no tree, not both at the same time, and I ain’t never heard of what’s his name’s sister.’

  ‘Well you explain why we hurt so bad and I smell of horse shit.’

  Together they stopped whispering as an unearthly rhythmic pumping got louder and louder. The leaping shadows and intense heat told them the flames were getting higher, and a deathly scream echoed in their ears. ‘I can hear him breathin’ fire and torment to some other poor soul.’ Carver said nervously.

  Murphy crawled to the balcony’s edge, slowly stood up and carefully peered over, fully expecting to see the Devil stoking up the fires of hell when all he saw was the rotund shape of Henry Copeland, the ever cheery blacksmith.

  ‘Afternoon, boys,’ Henry shouted. ‘I was wonderin’ when you two would wake up.’

  ‘Henry, is that you?’ Carver shouted in disbelief.

  ‘Who else would you goddamned expect to be here?’ Henry replied.

  Murphy gave a sigh of relief. ‘How in the name of blazes did we get here?’

  Henry put down his hammer, doused a metal bar in cold water, scratched his head and sat down on his anvil. ‘Don’t either of you two remember anything?’

  ‘Remember what?’ Murphy asked.

  Henry shook his head in disbelief. ‘Remember what the pair of you got up to last night?’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘“Such as?” Between the pair of you, you wrecked half the town, not to mention those you toyed with!’

  Carver popped up next to Murphy and gave a childish grin. ‘The hell you say?’

  ‘Hey, Henry, how did we get to be up here?’ Murphy asked. ‘I ain’t seen no staircase.’

  ‘A few of the drovers from the Eagle Mountain Ranch carried you both from the Star Diamond, hauled you up there on ropes and took away the ladder. The marshal told ’em to do it, sayin’ as to how this’ll keep you out of trouble. With the both of you not bein’ able to get down an’ all, he figured the town would be safe.’

  ‘Why ain’t he locked us up in jail?’ Murphy asked.

  ‘Jail’s full. What with all those prisoners you took, there ain’t no more room.’

  Carver sniffed and cleared his system with an almighty three-second belch. ‘If’n what you say is true then where’s our guns?’ he asked.

  ‘You gave them to the marshal just after you both started cheatin’ at cards.’

  ‘I ain’t never cheated at cards!’ Murphy insisted.

  ‘Oh, I beg to differ,’ Henry told them sternly. ‘I was watchin’, so was the marshal, and he was writin’ in that little book of his too.’

  Murphy narrowed his eyes. ‘Just how was I cheatin’?’

  ‘Well, after your arrestin’ the Bannisters, some of the townsfolk were mighty grateful and bought you both a drink or two.’ He blew on his fingernails and polished them on his leather apron as his face lit up with pride. ‘As a matter of fact they bought me one or two as well. . . . Me helping you boys out an’ all that. Anyways, you two were both drunker than Old Stumpy when you started cheatin’ one another. As I remember it, Murphy, you came up with five aces, and then you, Carver, you came up with six kings. The whole hotel was in an uproar laughin’ and so was you two, so you played on to see as to who could cheat the best; that’s when the marshal got your guns.’

  ‘He took our guns?’

  ‘No, as I said, you gave the marshal your guns.’

  Carver began to laugh. ‘Now I know you’s a-joshin’; we’d never give up our guns.’

&nb
sp; ‘Maybe not ordinarily but the marshal bet you both five dollars you wouldn’t give him your guns and you did it just to win the bet.’

  Carver grinned and shook his head. ‘And you say Marshal Wheetman is supposed to be smart . . . He done lost ten dollars, that ain’t so smart. Haw haw!’

  ‘Anyroads,’ Henry continued. ‘As I was telling yer, the both of you thought it a good idea to have a duel. Seein’ as you had no guns you decided to settle the whole thing in a shin kickin’ contest.’ He slapped his thigh and rolled with laughter. ‘I swear, Murphy, you was a riot. You got a long red feather from Alice’s fruit hat and stuck it in your neck collar, then went about struttin’ and crowin’ like a twenty dollar rooster, flappin’ your arms and scratchin’ your feet until it came to the contest. Carver, you went first and kicked Murphy so hard I almost limped for ya.

  ‘Murphy, you went around hoppin’ in a circle and cursin’ so bad, Old Jack Hargrove went on to blushin’. Then it came to your turn, Murphy, but you was so drunk you missed Carver and hit the table leg. Might have broken your own had the table leg not come adrift and flew straight through Alice’s best coloured window. She was hoppin’ mad and comenst to hittin’ you both with a switch that she kept behind the bar. The pair of you ran like naughty little children and headed for the street whilst Alice kept on switchin’ you both real good.’

  ‘Outside you both fell about laughin’ so hard, I swear I thought you’d never breathe in agen.’

  ‘And that’s how we got to be up in your loft?’ Murphy asked.

  ‘Oh no, that’s just the start. Next you went to the Golden Shoe and got even more liquored up. By this time there was quite an audience and Ben Crookshank bet you both five dollars you couldn’t stay on Gloria, his mule, for more’n a minute. You both thought it was a duel so you took the bet.’

  ‘Murphy . . . the way you jumped on backwards and held on to its tail was a sight for sore eyes; you even used your teeth, but it bucked you off in seconds and you landed like a rag doll in a pile of horse shit.’

  ‘Carver, you jumped on all cocky like and held tighter than a snake with a gopher with your arms wrapped around Gloria’s neck. At first she looked surprised and stood stone still, and maybe you’d have lasted longer had you not sat bolt upright a-wavin’ your arms high in the air like some big galoot. Gloria turned her head and looked at you pitifully before throwing you back into the Golden Shoe, straight through the front window. Jack Lang was so riled up he told you never to step into his saloon agen.’

  Murphy rubbed his aching back. ‘And that’s how we ended up here?’

  ‘’Fraid not, boys, only the beginnin’. You see, the duel hadn’t come to no outcome so you both decided to continue with the contest.’

  ‘But you said as to how we were carried from the Golden Shoe, and just then you said as how Jack Lang told us never to return.’

  ‘That’s true, boys, but you did return . . . and return you did in big style.’

  ‘All the folks thought you’d gone to sleep off all that liquor, but that weren’t the case. Before too long the pair of you came ridin’ down the street on the backs of two giant hogs. You were shoutin’, screamin’ and hollerin’ so loud the whole darned mob of Ted Hanley’s pigs were in tow . . . I tell yer, boys, it was an even bigger sight for sore eyes.’

  ‘You, Murphy . . . you began to get ahead a little, so Carver done grabbed your hog’s tail and tried to slow it down. It began a screamin’ and cussin’ and blow me if’n it didn’t head straight towards the Golden Shoe followed by Carver’s hog and all the rest of Ted’s stock.’

  ‘Did I win?’ Murphy asked.

  ‘Not entirely, because your hog went straight under the saloon doors and you were sittin’ high on its back, sort of turning a little as you were hand flappin’ your hat to loosen Carver’s grip on your hog . . . and that’s when it happened.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘You were swept off like fresh snow from a newly polished saddle.’

  ‘So I won?’ Carver asked.

  ‘’Fraid not, either. Murphy grabbed you and sent you a-flyin’ to the floor.’

  ‘So then what happened next?’ Murphy asked.

  ‘The rest of the hogs followed your two and ran about inside the Golden Shoe. Well, I guess they must have been pretty scared because they did what nature intended as they ran here and there, causin’ a right ruckus. Boys, I swear Jack Lang will never get rid of the smell. Neither will his worship Nathaniel Boyd. Funny thing is, he was wearin’ a brand new pair of pigskin boots when he done slipped and fell into the biggest pile of hog shit I have ever clapped my eyes on.’

  ‘Dan Tripmaster began pointing and a-laughin’ at his worship, so Mrs Boyd done hit Dan with her ladies parasol – the one she claims come from Paris, France. Dan fell back and turned over a table at which were sittin’ two cowhands I ain’t never seen afore. One of ’em pushed Dan and Dan pushed him back, and soon a fight began to break out. Tables, chairs, bottles and glasses were being threwd. I swear I ain’t never seen anythin’ like it afore.’

  Murphy closed his eyes, shook his head and sighed. ‘And the marshal? Where was he?’

  ‘The marshal sat halfway up the stairs, writin’ in that little book of his. He didn’t seem at all bothered. I reckon he knew it would all simmer down sometime so he just watched and wrote.’

  ‘And then?’ Murphy asked.

  ‘Well, that’s just it, boys, it’s as I told ya. Just before you both passed out you were hauled up there and left to sober up.’

  ‘The marshal told ’em to do it, you say?’

  ‘Sure did,’ Henry grinned. ‘I reckon you’s both in a heap of trouble. Maybe it’ll be safer to stay put until the whole thing blows over.’

  ‘When do ya think that’ll be?’

  ‘Oh, next fall I reckon.’

  Looking like an old scarecrow after a tornado, Carver moved his shattered body and staggered to the edge of the loft. ‘Henry, put that ladder into place. We’re goin’ to come on down.’ After Henry did as he was asked, Carver descended to the ground slowly, with a groan. ‘Oh, my achin’ back. I think one of those hogs must have run me down,’ he complained.

  ‘Not rightly true,’ Henry continued. ‘As the drovers were draggin’ you over here, Olga was as angry as a bull on a red flag day and blamed you for Murphy being drunk an’ all. Said as to how “it vaz all ze fault of dirty Carver and how she should have killed him when she had zee chance”.’

  ‘Olga!’ Carver gasped in fear.

  Henry nodded his head. ‘Olga,’ he replied knowingly. ‘She took to grapplin’ those drovers and thumpin’ you hard so as they would let you go and she could then commence to stomp on your head. As it was, the marshal said something to her in that fancy lingo of hers and she plumb cooled down.’

  Murphy came down the ladder and strained as her tried to straighten up. ‘I bet the marshal is pretty angry?’

  ‘You could say that, but not as mad as many of the townsfolk: those hogs you released went on to eatin’ Roy Weston’s vegetable patch. They done damn near ate the lot before they could be stopped, Mary Brinkster and her sister lost two lines of clean washin’ and they ate all of Gary Stalker’s apple store.’

  Murphy scratched his head. ‘That ain’t rightfully our fault,’ he protested. ‘Ted Hanley should keep his hogs fed. Why, if’n it hadn’t been for us, those hogs could have starved to death.’

  ‘I don’t think Ted thinks of it that way, but if he was struggling to feed ’em all, his job’s a little easier now because four on ’em got shot. If I were you boys, I would stay low for a while.’

  ‘It still ain’t our fault: we were drunk,’ Murphy insisted. ‘We don’t know nothin’ of any hog race, although I do seem to recollect hittin’ the saloon doors.’

  Henry glanced across the street and saw the marshal making his way towards the smithy. ‘You boys had better hide,’ he told them. ‘The marshal is headed this way.’

  Murphy and Carver rushed
to the back of the smithy and covered themselves with some tarpaulins. ‘Good afternoon, Mister Copeland. I take it my deputies are awake?’ Daniel asked.

  ‘Awake and gone, Marshal,’ Henry replied with a smile. ‘I reckon they must feel mighty rough after last night. Maybe they took off out of town?’

  Daniel thought for a moment then surveyed the interior of the smithy slowly. ‘Dust, Mister Copeland.’

  ‘Errr . . . I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Marshal.’

  ‘Dust, as in “earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust”. You notice dust comes last, after ashes. That is true in your establishment, Mister Copeland, as it is true in all blacksmiths all over the world: dust comes last.’ He began to saunter towards the tarpaulins as he removed his sword from his stick. ‘The dust is quite thick over here; one could almost cut the atmosphere with a knife, or a sword in this case.’ He gave the blade a quick swish through the air. ‘Did you hear that, Mister Copeland, the sound of a razor sharp blade, menacingly cutting its way as one wields it with a smooth sharp slash? They say many a head has been severed with a good deep slash but that method of dispatching one’s adversary is a trifle vulgar, don’t you think?’ He gently felt the needle sharp point of his sword. ‘I much prefer to thrust rather than slash.’ He stabbed his sword elegantly through the top right hand side of one tarpaulin. ‘See how easily it could penetrate the human chest.’

  ‘Easy, Marshal,’ Henry said. ‘I need those without holes if’n you please.’

  Daniel stood and paused in front of the tarpaulins under which Murphy and Carver were hiding and assumed his finest en garde position.

  ‘It’s over, boys!’ Henry shouted. ‘Best come out now; the marshal’s got you figured.’

  Slowly, the top of the tarpaulins began to peel away, revealing the ashen faces of Murphy and Carver. ‘Errr. . . Howdy, Marshal,’ Murphy began. ‘Me and Carver here were both tryin’ to sober up before we came on to see ya.’