Dark Reflection

Chapter 17

"Deke"

by Lilyjack

Chester Goode hunkered down in his hiding place behind empty barrels and broken crates in the dingy-dark, windswept alley alongside the Long Branch. Wide-eyed, chewing on a ragged thumbnail, he silently observed the entire close-shave incident starting with Blackthorne's deputy, Hector Groate, climbing aboard Doc's rickety wagon. Chester had peeped anxiously over the crates, taking care to remain in the shadows, as Groate yanked back the canvas, pried open the coffin lid, then cursed in disgust as he discovered what seemed to be a stinking body headed for burial on Boot Hill. The young saloon employee puffed out a silent breath in weak-kneed relief, pressing a hand to his narrow chest as Groate scrambled hurriedly from the bed of the conveyance, irritably waving the wagon on.

Chester saw the big man then hotfoot it into the alley across the street. As lightning streaks illuminated the dark space between buildings, Chester caught glimpses of Groate hurriedly bending double and heaving the contents of his stomach onto the dirt street. Agilely scrambling to his feet from behind his hiding place in spite of his lame leg, the slim, dark-haired man emerged onto the boardwalk, ready to head over and take advantage of the current situation with Deputy Groate. But Chester stopped in his tracks and smiled a little when matters seemed to improve even further - he spied a rancher's son he recognized hustling this way down the boardwalk, gripping the brim of his hat against the wind, aiming for the shelter of the Long Branch Saloon before the storm broke. Chester hop-stepped closer and called to the young man over the windy gusts, "Hey, you! Ain't yer name Bowman? Deke Bowman?"

Deke flipped up his collar against the elements and turned to Chester in surprise. "What in hell are you doin' out here? Ain't a fit night out for man nor beast!"

"I think I saw somebody over in that there alley, Deke. Appears to be sick!" Chester aimed to try and get Groate to talk about what he had seen in front of this Deke Bowman. He realized the more witnesses, direct or indirect, to the story of Jack Mathias' apparent de-mise, the better Mister Mathias' chance at an escape. After Mister Mathias had helped him get Miss Kitty away from Blackthorne, that is.

The young rancher, in his mid-twenties, with dark, wavy hair badly wanting a cut, an almost handsome face in need of a shave, and mismatched clothing that could stand a good washing, eyed Chester askance. "Aw, it's liable to come a downpour any minute."

Chester contended, "All the more reason to see if this here feller needs help. Come on now. Let's take a look-see. Then maybe we'll go git us a drink. I'm buyin'—how's that sound?"

"You're buyin'?" The young man's face, turned golden brown by many hours of hard work beneath the harsh Kansas sun, lit up with interest. A wide, white smile was topped by a nose that might've been striking if it hadn't been broken by a kicking mule when he was just thirteen. The effect was softened, though, by a sprinkling of small chestnut freckles across the bridge, freckles which only hinted at Deke's true rascally nature. He inquired, "Your name's Chester, ain't it? Don't you work at the Long Branch?"

"Yep, I surely do."

"Yeah, I've seen you there before. Glad to finally make your acquaintance, Chester, even if I would rather be somewheres else right now. Nothin' personal, you understand."

Grabbing ahold of his dark hat against a sizeable blast of wind, Chester replied kindly but firmly, "I reckon I do understand, but now let's go see if that feller over there needs our help. It sounds like he's about ready to throw up his toenails if I'm not mistaken." Chester had to stifle a snort at the very idea. Whatever that trouble-making Groate got, he purely deserved.

The two crossed to the far alley which was thankfully somewhat sheltered from the whipping wind, and they were able to clearly hear the awful sounds of a man in dire straits. They approached with extreme caution, not being quite sure which direction Groate was aiming, and neither particularly wished to enter into his line of fire. After several agonizing moments of waiting, Groate's "storm" at last seemed to have passed.

Chester then noisily cleared his throat in a hasty and awkward sort of introduction. Groate slowly staggered and turned to face them, his green-tinged, sweaty face, lit only by the increasingly frequent lightning streaks across the roiling black sky. His pallor was a ghastly contrast against the red mustache and beard which received a perfunctory swipe from a damp sleeve.

Chester swallowed hard as Deke elbowed him a little encouragement in the ribs. Finally, Chester piped up, "Mister, we couldn't help but notice that you was feelin' a mite poorly and…"

Groaning, Groate clapped a hand over his mouth, turned quickly and the messy business began in earnest all over again.

Gosh Almighty. Deke, scratching at his ear, quietly murmured to Chester that the man did indeed seem to be about ready to throw up his own toenails. He remarked to Chester in amazement at the sheer volume produced by the sick man. "Hell's afire, where's all that comin' from? His gizzard's gonna come shootin' out any second now…"

Chester rubbed his chin, observing thoughtfully, "Well, he is a mighty big feller. He probably ate hisself a sizeable supper earlier today." But then Chester remembered he was here for a reason and truly needed to get down to brass tacks. He whispered sideways to his young companion, "You know who that is, don't ya?"

Hands on slim hips, tone rising in slight indignation, Deke answered, "Sure I d-…"

Chester cut him off with a finger to his lips. "Quieten down, Bowman." He pointed to the unfortunate man bent double, thankfully a distance back in the alley. He mouthed the words, "He'll hear us."

The young man lowered his voice to a whisper, "Sorry…and you can call me 'Deke,' Chester. I feel like my Pa when you call me by my family name. But that there is one of Blackthorne's henchmen, one of them so-called 'deputies.'"

"Shhhhh!" Chester screwed up his face. "You cain't go around talkin' like that. What if he hears you? You'll git yerself in a world a' hurt."

"I don't give a damn." Deke's eyes hardened. "I'm gettin' good and tired of all this…"

"Shhhhh!" Chester repeated, waving his hands frantically back and forth. "I done told you, Deke…let's talk about this later. Now's not the time, trust me."

A moan sounded from the rear of the alley. "Ohhhhh…."

Both men started, their heads snapping around to peer into the darkness. Had Groate heard them?

"Augghhh…" continued the torturous cry from Groate. "If I never…. Uhhhhh…see another sight like the one I saw today… Unnhhhh… It won't be long enough…"

Apparently Groate hadn't heard them. He was simply groanin' his fool head off. Served him right, Chester thought.

Groate then turned and attempted to sit down but was so weak, he simply fell on his gluteus maximus, then collapsed backwards and lay spread eagled, spent…exhausted on the rutted dirt. Lightning lit the dark alley and thunder rumbled through the air. "Uhhhhhhhh…" came the final moan from the ground.

Chester and Deke sidled alongside and stared down, silently scrutinizing. The man's eyes were closed and he lay motionless. They couldn't tell whether he was alive or dead.

Deke squinted across the body at Chester. "You want me to kick him, see if there's any signs of life?"

"No, Deke!" Chester grimaced. "We're here to help the man, not knock 'im around any worse! Tarnation!"

"He smells dead. Damn, he stinks to high heaven…whew!" Deke removed his hat and waved it in front of his face.

"Well," Chester analyzed the situation thoughtfully, "we was spared the worst of it because we was standin' upwind, don't ya' see, but now we're up close, so…"

Another streak of lightning and the resulting thunder made them both jump and also reminded Chester of the business at hand. He urgently pointed down, and both men squatted on either side of Groate who remained unmoving. Chester gingerly tapped the man on his shoulder.

"Uhn…"

Deke curled a lip at Chester, wafted his hat around a bit. "Not too promising. I don't think we can carry this joker. He's dead weight. I vote we leave 'im. He's Blackthorne's problem…"

"No, wait!" Leaving Groate would spoil Chester's master plan. He had to get Groate to talk, to verify Jack's death, to spread the word in Dodge that the "troublemaker" had met his Maker. That would give Jack time to safely hide out and heal and then help rescue Miss Kitty. They just had to get Miss Kitty out of the Long Branch. "Just hold yer horses, Deke. We cain't leave this feller layin' here with a storm afixin' to break."

Chester hastily reached over and pried open Groate's left eyelid with two fingers. "Hey, mister, you alright? Can you hear me?"

"UHNNN…" The response was a bit more lively this time.

Chester poked him a few times on the arm. Then several times more for good measure. "Hey, you awake? You okay, mister? It's gonna rain on our heads so you best get a move on purty quick."

The man's bloodshot eyes popped open of their own accord. "Rain?"

Chester spoke up first, "Yeah, on our heads, unless you get a little life back in yer bones. Uh, yer name Deputy Groate?"

"Yeah." Groate scrubbed his pale, sweaty face with two beefy hands.

"You okay?"

"I ain't too sure…" Groate looked up at them. "But you're talkin' to me so I figger I ain't dead yet."

Deke snorted.

Chester replied, "Well, I reckon yer right about that." Scratching his head, he asked casually, "But…my oh my, what on earth happened, Deputy? You was so sick. You get aholt a' some bad meat or somethin'?"

Groate, groaning, dragged himself to a sitting position. He started to wipe his perspiring face with his sleeve but then, taking a delicate sniff of the fabric, thought better of it.

It took some doing, but Chester and Deke ended up getting the whole horrifying story out of Hector Groate —how Hector had attempted to help the old doctor and young boy with their terrible cargo, how the coffin lid had come open and Groate offered to nail it shut for them again. But when he did, the gruesome sight that greeted him was so awful it made him dreadful sick—rotten, maggoty flesh and foul, stinking gangrene so putrid it made him gag.

When Chester urged him to reveal the identity of the poor soul journeying to his final resting place, Groate grimaced as he struggled to find his sea legs to stand up and pronounced, "That bastard stranger who came to Dodge City and tried stirrin' things up-Jack Matthias, that's who. I guess he got what was comin' to him, eh? Now he's rotting in his damn grave."

"Oh, forevermore," Chester answered quietly as his eyes cautiously met Deke's. He noticed Deke didn't say a thing, just pressed his lips tightly together as his hard stare shifted to Groate.

Chester politely inquired once more if Groate was going to be alright, and when Blackthorne's man grunted in the affirmative, Deke and Chester turned wordlessly and walked to the Long Branch in ominous silence, pulling their jackets tightly around them against the blustery wind.

They stood hunkering over the bar, and Deke murmured, "Guess I'll buy you that drink now."

Chester disagreed, "Naw, it was me who was supposed to buy you a drink."

Deke took off his hat and set it atop the polished wood. "No offense, Chester, but you got any money in them pockets a' yours?" He attempted to smooth his wayward, windblown hair.

"Why sure I do!" Chester started digging. "I got…" A couple of coins hit the shiny bar top.

"Exactly enough to pay for two drinks. Not much to spare. So that's why I'm buyin', Chester. You save your money for a rainy day."

Chester protested, "But today is…"

"Alright, alright…for another rainy day. Two beers, Red." Deke threw the barkeep a coin and told him to keep the change. To Chester he said, "Blackthorne and his men gave that stranger in town a raw deal, you ask me."

Hastily, Chester looked around to see if any ears were close enough to hear Deke's words. He admonished, "Deke, you gotta be awful careful what you say, you hear me? You heard what happened to that stranger, didn't ya'?"

Leaning closer, Deke answered in a bitter whisper, "They murdered him, plain and simple." He took a deep swig of his beer and wiped the foam angrily from his mouth. "A man's got no rights in this town, not anymore."

Deke noticed Chester gazing up at Kitty's door and added in a hushed tone, "Or a woman, for that matter. I'd like to kill that bastard Blackthorne for what he's done to Kitty Russell."

Chester's eyes shot to Deke Bowman in surprise.

"You heard me. I'd slit that son-of-a-bitch's throat if I had half a chance." His work-calloused thumb unconsciously smoothed over the carved deer antler that served as the handle for the knife sheathed at his belt. "It's one thing to pick on a grown man… But to prey on a woman is another matter entirely. The man needs killin'."

Chester stammered, "Ah… Uh, well…"

Deke pointed a finger at Chester's nose, "Don't tell me you don't feel the same way, son. Just where'd you get that scar on your cheek there, huh? And she's your boss, alright, but I've seen the way you look at her." Then he stared down into the amber liquid filling his glass and murmured, "Cain't see as how I blame you. She's the purtiest gal I ever seen. Nicest, too. Why, I bet you…"

Dark eyebrows beetling in consternation, Chester found his tongue at last, "I declare, Deke, I don't know what yer talkin' about. Miss Kitty is my closest friend, my onliest friend!"

Deke's demeanor suddenly changed – his eyes twinkling as his hand clutched dramatically at his heart. "You mean you don't count me as a compadre, Chester?"

Chester's mouth dropped open. "Well, I guess, I mean, well…we only just met is all."

Deke lightly punched Chester's arm. "That's okay, Chester. Just goes to show you got better taste. I'd go for the purty redhead instead a' me, too, if I was you." He winked at Chester, and Chester's mouth fell open in exasperation again. Deke cut off any protest with a request, "Two more beers, Red! One for me and one for my friend Chester here!"

Chester couldn't help but get a warm feeling in his chest when Deke called him "friend," even if Deke was teasing him about Miss Kitty when he didn't have a right to. Nobody had ever really paid a lot of attention to him in Dodge City, exceptin' Miss Kitty, a'course. He imagined it was on account a' his leg and all - maybe they thought he couldn't do much or perhaps he was simple in the head - so he had always purty much kept to hisself. But maybe he did have a new friend now… Deke surely was of a like mind when it came to Blackthorne and his bunch. And that sparked an idea in Chester's head. One that he pushed into the back of his mind when Red brought the beers over.

Deke pitched another coin on the bar. "Thanks, Red. Keep the change."

"Much obliged!" Red nodded and wiped some spilled foam from the scarred wood surface as Chester glanced around, making sure none of Blackthorne's men were present. Now was his chance to announce the news that Jack Mathias was dead and buried, and no one better to spread the word far and wide than the Long Branch bartender.

Attempting his best to appear nonchalant, Chester twisted his head to scratch the back of his neck as he commented to Red, "You know that stranger that was in here a few days ago? Got in a big tussle with Linwood Chaney?"

Red polished the bar, looking cautiously around the room before he murmured, "Yeah, how could I forget? Got the tar beat out of him. Hear he's probably not gonna make it – over at Doc Adams' now."

"He didn't," Deke answered sourly. "Make it, that is."

Red quietly exclaimed, "You don't say! Poor bastard. I can't say I'm not surprised. I never seen a man suffer such a beatin'. Some say he got even worse at the jailhouse later." He shook his head empathetically. "What's this town comin' to?"

Deke muttered into his mug, "That's what I wanna know."

Red asked, "Say, how'd you two come to know the stranger had passed?"

"Go ahead," Chester urged. "You tell 'im, Deke."

Deke drank deeply from his fresh beer, then began to relate his story to Red. "Well, me and Chester come upon one of Blackthorne's deputies, that big bully Hector Groate, in the street. He told us he'd seen the man what got beat up in the Long Branch, layin' in his coffin, on his way t' Boot Hill… Mathias, that was his name, wasn't it, Chester? Jack Mathias. Well, Mathias' body was in such terrible shape, so putrid and stinking with gangrene, it made Groate sicker than a mule. And that's how we found Groate just a little while ago. It must've been a terrible sight to make him as puny as he was, but I reckon bein' one of Blackthorne's men, he got exactly what he deserved."

Suddenly Red's eyes narrowed in warning, and he quickly stepped a few feet down the bar as boot heels clicked at the batwing doors, accompanied by the sickly smell of cigar smoke. Chester's fists tightened as he slowly cast his eyes at Deke. He knew without looking who was at the door. The boot heels tapped their way across the room, patrons falling silent as Silas Blackthorne passed their way. Finally, Chester's heart sank down deep into the pit of his stomach as he heard the footsteps mounting the stairway. He couldn't tear his eyes from the balcony, the big man in the gunmetal gray duster and hat, ruined face half covered with a leather mask, a brown paper package held in his gloved hand, a bunch of prairie flowers under his arm, as he opened the door to Kitty Russell's room with the other.

Chester's heart pounded and his face flushed hot. He leaned on his elbow and shaded his eyes to hide the tears welling there, hot tears of helpless frustration and rage. Then he felt a hand squeezing his shoulder in comfort.

Deke's voice spoke softly, bitterly, "He needs killin', Chester. I'ma gonna do it, one of these days, mark my word."

Chester took a deep breath, then another, and sat up straight. He looked his new friend in the eye, then glanced around cautiously and whispered, "I just need to get her outta there, Deke."

"Now how are you gonna do that? There's too many of Blackthorne's outlaws, dozens of 'em. And only one of you…"

Chester smiled grimly, "Now, what if I was to tell you that you was wrong, Deke?"

"What exactly do you mean?" He shuffled closer, murmured more quietly as he carefully watched those around them. "You really plan on bustin' her outta here? Even with his girls spying everywhere? And armed guards?" Deke cocked his head indicating the man with the shotgun and pistol sitting near the top of the stairs.

"Well, obviously I ain't a'gonna be able to git her out all by myself now, am I?"

"Chester, are you tellin' me you need some help? Cause I would never turn down a friend in need. That just ain't in my nature."

The idea that had formed in Chester's head earlier was now coming to fruition. Deke indeed might prove a valuable asset to their alliance. Deke seemed to want to be rid of Blackthorne's regime as much as anyone else. Chester just had to convince Mister Mathias and the others that Deke was genuine.

But in the meantime, perhaps Chester and Deke could discuss a few notions that had been forming in Chester's head. Some might call them schemes. It couldn't hurt, as long as Chester left Mister Matthias' name out of the conversation.

Chester swallowed down the last of his beer, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Then he asked, "So, Deke, if you was to make an escape plan, how would you go about it?"

tbc

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