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Post by lee on Sept 22, 2023 2:18:16 GMT
All-Star Western Presents:
Bat Lash: Death and Calamity
Deadwood, The Dakotas Territory, August 1, 1876--
Aside from a few soiled doves displaying their goods on the balconies and in the windows of brothels, nobody seemed to pay the blue-eyed stranger any mind. Tipping his hat back to reveal his reddish-blond hair, he flashed them a mischievous smile as he rode by on his way to the nearest saloon.
“Deadwood seems like a might’ friendly place, Meteor,” he said, patting his horse’s neck.
The stallion, a buckskin with a white star in the middle of his forehead, shook its black mane as though answering his rider. The man laughed in response as he reined it in outside of Nuttal & Mann’s Number 10 saloon.
Dismounting, the man removed a small bundle of alfalfa from his saddlebag and held it where Meteor could eat it. While the stallion ate, his owner patted his neck and looked around.
“That’s a fine lookin’ horse.”
The man looked up as a rather plain looking woman dressed in buckskin from head to toe was coming across the street; a .32 caliber Hopkins and Allen Ranger pocket pistol was tucked into the belt around her waist. “Thank you kindly,” the man said.
The woman turned her head slightly to the left, but kept the newcomer within sight, and spit a stream of tobacco juice into the street. “Name’s Martha Jane Canary,” she said, “but most of these sons of whores just call me…”
“Calamity Jane,” the stranger said with a smile. “I heard all about what happened in Goose Creek. Is it true you got your nickname from Captain Egan?”
The woman’s laugh was loud and boisterous. “Did you read that in a Ladies’ Companion? What do they call you, Stranger?”
He removed his hat and bowed. “Bat Lash, at your service.”
“Well, Mr. Lash,” she said, grabbing him by the arm, “come on in and let’s see if you are anywhere close to being as thirsty as I am. First round is on me.” Calamity Jane pushed the swinging doors open and led the way inside.
Several of the men glanced up from their drinks and their card games to see who had entered. One man, his back to the door, continued to focus on the cards in his hand.
“Well, Bill,” one of the men at the table facing the door said. “It looks like you are off the hook. “’Ppears Jane has done gone and latched on to another feller.”
The man known throughout the Territories as “Wild Bill” Hickok gave a slight nod, then spoke. “You in, or are you jest gonna sit and gawk at Jane. You know she can git a might testy when she catches folks starin’ at her.”
The man immediately turned his attention back to his cards. “I’m in.”
Bill discarded two cards, which the dealer quickly replaced. His face remained unimpressed with his new cards, so the others at the table continued wonder what the gambler was holding. When it came back around to him, he placed his cards on the face down on the table. “I fold,” he said. “And I believe I’m gonna sit out the next hand while I partake this establishment’s libations.”
Most of those still seated at the table suspected Bill was more interested in Jane’s new companion than the alcohol, but they enjoyed breathing too much to voice their suspicions.
Wild Bill approached the bar and put his foot on the brass rail. “Gimme a beer.”
The bartender nodded and grabbed a mug.
After asking for his drink, he turned his back to the bar and leaned against it. In the few seconds it took for the bartender to bring his drink, he got a good look at Nuttal & Mann’s Monday evening crowd. He turned back around when he heard his beer being served.
“Hey, Bill.”
He didn’t even have to turn to see who was calling him. Jane’s voice was distinctive, to say the least. Despite the rumors surrounding them, he saw the woman as little more than a kindred soul. She, on the other hand, seemed to read more into his camaraderie than he intended. Still, he had plans of leaving soon and she was going back to riding for the Pony Express. He looked in her direction.
“Come on over here, Bill,” she said. “I want you to meet someone.”
Wild Bill moved among the tables until he reached the one occupied by Jane and the stranger. He pulled up a chair and joined them.
“Bill,” she said, reaching over and taking his beer. “You should’ve brought one for yourself.” She tipped back the mug and drained it in one swallow. She slammed it down on the table loud enough to get everyone’s attention, including the bartender. She held up three fingers and smiled.
The bartender nodded.
“So,” Bill said, “who is this?”
Jane grinned. “Somebody who loves gambling almost as much as you. Wild Bill Hickok, this here’s Bat Lash.”
Bill wiped his hand down his mustache as he waited for his beer. “Never heard of you.”
Bat looked at Wild Bill for a moment. “You still work as a lawman?”
Wild Bill shook his head. “Nowadays, I prefer a good game as to chasing down killers, but I might go after a bounty every now and then.”
“Then, I am glad you ain’t heard of me,” Bat said with a grin.
The bartender appeared and set a mug at his elbow and one in front of both Bat and Jane.
Bill took a sip, then looked at Bat. “Besides, I never made it my business to care what happened to some overzealous deputy in Texas.”
Bat nearly choked on his first drink of beer: Wild Bill grinned.
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Post by lee on Sept 22, 2023 2:37:42 GMT
Although I did not originally intend this story to be posted in parts, it has grown a bit bigger than expected. I hope you enjoy Bat's little trip to Deadwood.
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Post by dans on Sept 22, 2023 12:09:23 GMT
seems like Bat might have already saved a life!
Oops, never mind - don't want to give away the story!!!
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Post by DocQuantum on Sept 22, 2023 16:24:23 GMT
This is a nice character piece, an absolute delight. I can tell you've done your research on Hickok and Calamity Jane, given your character flourishes and attention to detail.
The story, as it stands, would already make for a compelling one-shot, showing us the essence of these iconic figures.
But I'm glad to see that story is set to continue, and I'm looking forward to seeing the dynamics of this trio: Wild Bill, Calamity Jane, and Bat Lash.
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Post by DocQuantum on Sept 22, 2023 16:35:02 GMT
BTW, Bat Lash's "spit-take" scene at the end was pretty funny, too.
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Post by lawrenceliberty on Sept 22, 2023 18:25:04 GMT
Yes, nice characterization! I hope you'll continue these Bat Lash tales. I much prefer him to Jonah Hex or Scalphunter although I do like them too.
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Post by lee on Sept 22, 2023 19:15:21 GMT
I've been reading the original series so I hope to get his established speech pattern down a bit more pat. As far as the Wild Bill/ Calamity Jane part of the story goes, most of the events, places, and people Bat encounters were real. My poor wife now knows more about Deadwood, and some of the folks who called it home, than she ever suspected she would.
I'm glad y'all are enjoying my trip to the wild west.
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Post by lee on Sept 24, 2023 17:05:29 GMT
August 2, 1876-- Bat climbed out of bed and walked to the window of the Welch’s Hotel. He stood and scratched his stomach as he looked down at the already busy street. Down the street he spotted the Creedmoor Gun Shop. “Probably wouldn’t hurt to get a couple more boxes of shells,” he said, starting a list of things he needed to do. He stepped first to one side, then to the other, looking to see what other businesses he might need to visit. “Wonder if there is a place to get a couple shirts cleaned and ironed?” “Hong Kee can take care of that for ya.” Bat jumped and turned around, wishing he had his gun strapped on. He put his hand on his chest when he saw Jane standing in the doorway. “I thought that was locked,” he said. “Just because a door locks doesn’t mean it actually works,” the woman said. “I hope you ain’t gonna stand there in your unmentionables with the hopes of seducin’ me. It might not set well with Bill.” She walked over to the window. “Then, again, if he sees me in your window while you are prancin’ around in your drawers, it might make him declare for me.” “Or, he could just shoot me,” Bat said, trying to step into his trousers. “Did you think of that possibility, Jane?” With his back toward her, he didn’t see the smile on her face when she answered. “That’s a risk I guess I’m willin’ to take.” Bat fell sideways trying to get his pants on. Jane turned and looked at him. “Lord a’mighty. You are a sight and a half.” she topped her comment of with a good-natured laugh. “Hurry up. We’ll grab us some breakfast, then I’ll show you around town. Don’t forget the clothes you want cleaned.” Ten minutes later, the pair were seated in the restaurant at the Grand Central Hotel. “I hope you are ready for some of the best grub in the Black Hills,” Jane said as she and Bat sat down. “Aunt Lou can is hard to beat when it comes to knowin’ your way around a kitchen. Fact is, I would put her up against any of them French cooks back east any day.” Bat licked his lips. It had been a while since he had eaten anything as good as what Jane was describing. “If she’s as good as ya say,” he said. “What in tarnation is she doing out here and not back east?” Jane leaned back in her seat and tipped her hat back. “Well, Aunt Lou’s family were slaves in Tennessee when she was a young’un, so, despite bein’ emancipated, ain’t a whole lot of folks, south or north, would hire a negro woman to work in their fancy kitchen. Lucky for us out here, we’d ruther eat good than worry about her skin color.” “Seems like some of them fellers from Dixie that have made their way west might not look so kindly to her fixin’ their vittles,” Bat replied. “Well, they was a couple Rebs not long after she arrived that voiced their opinions,” Jane said as their breakfast arrived, “but another Reb put a stop to their complainin’.” “Another Reb defended her?” Jane took a bite of her flapjacks before answering. “Ugly lookin’ cuss; side of his face was scarred up pretty bad. Anyhow, he told ‘em they could head back to Dixie or on up to Boot Hill. Feller actually gave them that choice.” She took another bite. “And?” Bat asked chewing on a piece of steak. “First feller must not have wanted to go back to Dixie,” Jane said, “but, by Gawd, that other feller lit out before the smoke quit rollin’ out of Ol’ Jonah’s gun.” At the mention of “Ol’ Jonah”, Bat looked up. “Jonah Hex?” Jane nodded, chewing on a bite of her own steak. “I've rode the trail with Jonah a time or two. That is one feller I wouldn’t want to get on the bad side of,” Bat said. “No siree.” After finishing breakfast, the pair made their way into the street with the Creedmoor Gun Shop in mind. They were barely a dozen feet from the hotel door when gunfire erupted near the edge of town. Bat’s hand immediately dropped to his pistol, but Jane just stopped and looked at him. “What in the…? What do ya think you’re doin’?” Bat looked at the gun in his hand, then at Jane. “That ain’t no fight,” she said. “Put that away and watch.” As Bat’s pistol dropped into its holster, a horse came galloping into town, its rider sending lead into the air with two pistols of his own. The gambler noticed a big grin on his face as he rode by. “He was a young’un,” Jane said. “Probably just found enough gold dust to think he can afford every painted lady down at Dirty Em’s.” Bat pushed hit hat back and grinned. “This is sure one interesting town.” Jane looked at him. “My mind has rassled with somethin’ since I first saw you.” “What’s that?” “Why are you wearin’ that half-dead daisy in you hat band?” Bat reached up and removed it. Sure enough, it was about time to replace it. “It’s my way of showing I don’t like violence.” Jane grinned. “You was mighty quick in retrievin’ that hog’s leg for someone who don’t like violence.” He replaced the daisy and returned her grin. “As much as I don’t like violence, I don’t like the idea of dying even more.” Jane spent the better part of an hour showing Bat around Deadwood, when, suddenly, she pulled a pocketwatch from her vest. “Disease-ridden whores and spilt whiskey,” she swore. Wide-eyed at her words, Bat looked at the woman. “Pressing business?” “I was supposed to ride out and visit some of the nearby mining camps,” she said. “You want to ride out with me?” Bat stood silent, thinking about her offer. “We can stop by the Grand Central and have Aunt Lou fix us up a mess of vittles to take along with us,” Jane said, making the offer more enticing. “You got yourself a travelin’ companion,” Bat said, turning back toward the Grand Central. “Well? You comin?” Jane laughed. “Let’s go.”
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Post by lee on Sept 24, 2023 17:07:40 GMT
The road at the end of town where the exuberant young miner had entered a short time ago quickly narrowed a few hundred yards beyond Deadwood and branched off in a dozen different directions, each heading into the Black Hills and the awaiting mining camps. Jane led the way up the fourth such trail, one that was narrow, rocky, and uninviting, and Bat fell in behind her. About halfway up, they had to nudge their horses close to the trail’s edge and rein them in while a 3-mule train passed them on its way back down to town for supplies. “Morning, Miss Calamity.” Leading the mules was a Chinese boy in his mid-teens. “Mornin’, Tingfeng,” Jane responded. “Your grandfather doin’ okay?” “Yes, Miss Calamity. He doing very well.” “Be careful headin’ back into town,” Jane told him. The boy nodded, waved, and began to sing something in his native language as he continued on his way. “So,” Bat asked as they started moving again, “why exactly do you visit these mining camps?” “Some of these folks ain’t got nothin’ but their claim and the little makeshift cabins what sets on them to their name, so they cain’t come into town because they are skeered claimjumpers will move in and root ‘em out. I try to pay ‘em a visit to see if any of ‘em ar e feelin’ poorly and, if they need medicine, I’ll bring it to ‘em next day.” Bat thought for a moment. “I don’t know if I would make a fit miner,” he said. “I find it easier gambling with miners to get the gold I want.” A short time later, they reached the first claim. The small cabin was little more than the remains of the covered wagon which brought its owner to the Black Hills in search of his fortune. The door opened as they approached and a grizzled old man hobbled out, a handmade crutch under his arm. To Bat, the man looked old enough to remember when anything beyond the Ohio was considered the wild frontier. “What happened to his leg?” Bat asked as they reined in their horses. “I doubt even he remembers,” Jane said. “He’s been hobblin’ around these parts since long before most of the others got here.” She looked at the old miner. “How ya doin’ Pete?” He looked at her and snarled. “Ya ever gonna mind yer own b’iness?” Jane laughed. “You’d miss me if’n I did, ya old coot.” She reached into her saddlebag and tossed a small tied sack to Pete, which he deftly caught with his free hand. “Tobaccee?” he asked. “Fer smokin’,” she said, “and there should also be a plug in there if ya got a mind ta spit.” Pete smiled, revealing a mouth with barely the same amount of teeth as he had fingers. “Bless yer busybody heart.” Jane closed her saddlebag. “Need anything next trip?” “I’ll take coffee or a good tumble in the hay. Whichever ya prefer.” His laugh was a wheeze-filled cackle. Jane flicked the reins and her horse started to move. “Coffee it is, ya old coot. Your poor ole heart couldn’t handle the other.” Pete continued to cackle as they disappeared around the bend. The sun was beginning to sink in the distance when Jane decided it was time to head back to Deadwood. They were just passing Pete’s place when they heard a horse riding hard up the narrow path. “What in tarnation?” Jane said. Bat had his pistol out and the hammer cocked when a cowboy came thundering into view. The rider started to push his horse onward when he spotted Jane. Jerking the reins hard, he held on as his mount reared up on its back legs. When its front legs were back on the ground, the rider dropped from the saddle and rushed up to the woman. “I’ll ask it ag’in ,” Jane said. “What in tarnation?” “He’s dead,” the rider blurted out. “Who’s dead?” Bat asked. The look on Jane’s face told him exactly who the rider was talking about. “Wild Bill is...dead?” The rider turned to Bat as Jane dropped to her knees. Before anyone realized it, Pete was at Jane’s side. “What happened?” Bat asked. “His back was to the door. Jack McCall shot him while he was playing cards.” Jane climbed to her feet. “I’m gonna kill that lilly-livered, no good, bottom feedin’, sidewindin’, yellow-bellied, son of an out of work whore.” “They already captured him a tryin’ to escape,” the ruder said. “They’s gonna try him in a miners’ court tomorrow.” Jane looked at Bat, tears running down her cheeks. “Will ya sit with me at the trial just so’s I don’t do nothin’ foolish?” “Of course I will,” Bat replied. “Miss Jane,” the rider said as he climbed back up into the saddle. “Mr. Utter said if I was to see you out here, tell you to come find him when you got back in town. He claimed Wild Bill’s body and was already making the funeral arrangements. He even said he was gonna pay for Hickok’s plot.” The man then rode away, heading further into the hills to break the news to the other miners and tell them to come to town for the trial.
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Post by lee on Sept 24, 2023 17:08:26 GMT
August 3, 1876— Crowds were starting to gather in Deadwood by the time the sun was peeking over the eastern horizon. By 9 AM, most of the crowd, or, at least, those who were able to, entered McDaniels’ Theater for the trial where Judge Kuykendall was prepared to preside. Once the trial was underway, the prosecution called three men to bear witness against the accused, Jack McCall. Each, in turn, told of how McCall entered the saloon, walked up behind Hickok, shot him in the back of the head, and yelled, “Take that.” In return, the defense called three men of their own who stood and told what a fine, upstanding young man McCall was. When it finally came time for the accused to speak, like a great, Shakespearean actor, the man took the stage. He thrust his hand into his shirt and struck a Napoleonic pose, threw his head back, and in a loud voice, made his statement. “Well, men, I have but few words to say. Wild Bill killed my brother, and I killed him. Wild Bill threatened to kill me if I ever crossed his path. I am not sorry for what I have done. I would do the same thing over again.” He then returned to his seat. The prosecution countered with testimony of Hickok’s character, but in less than two hours, the jury of miners handed down the verdict. “We, the jurors, find the prisoner, Mr. John McCall, not guilty. Charles Whitehead, Foreman.” The theater was filled with gasps, shouts of jubilation, and cries of anger. In her seat, with Bat Lash by her side, the woman known as Calamity Jane could only sob. As Bat got her by the arm and led her from the building, many of those present offered her their condolences. Charley Utter caught up with the pair shortly after they made it clear of the crowd. “Jane, Bat,” he said as he approached. “Charley,” Bat replied. “That was...I don’t know what that was,” Charley said, his shoulders sagging. “Whatever it was, it sure wasn’t justice.” Jane remained quiet during the exchange. After a moment of silence, Charley spoke. “We got the word out that we will be havin’ Bill’s funeral at 3 o’clock. I’ve got a spot picked out on the mountainside, toward the east; couple of the boys are workin’ on the grave now. We’re gonna have the service over at my camp across the creek; we’ve set up a big tepee set up at the foot of one of them giant trees.” He looked at Bat. “Make sure she’s on time.” “I will.” It wasn’t quite 3 o’clock when Bat and Jane arrived, but the crowd here was even bigger than the one assembled at the trial. Despite the number of folks in attendance, Bat and Jane had no trouble making it to the tepee where Charley had a seat reserved for her. Word began to pass through the crowd that Calamity Jane had arrived, and, in silence, a path appeared leading straight to the front. In the tepee lay “Wild Bill” Hickok, his coffin, one of the finest seen by most of those in attendance, was draped in a black cloth and covered in silver ornaments. He wore a black broadcloth dress suit and new white linen shirt. His chestnut hair hung in long wavy ringlets across his broad shoulders. Save for the thick, drooping mustache that was as much his trademark as his skill with a gun, he had been clean shaven. His arms were folded across his chest and, as per his stated desire, his trusty rifle lay by his side. Jane touched his chest, her hand lingering for but a moment, then looked at Bat. He and Charley led her to a seat, then Bat moved to stand behind her while Charley took the empty chair beside her. Tears filled their eyes as they remembered the times they had spent with their friend while the preacher delivered a message that everyone in attendance would fondly remember for years to come. When he finished, the lid was put in place and Deadwood said their final goodbyes to James Butler “Wild Bill” Hickok. As the crowd began to disperse, Bat, Jane, and Charley watched them go. Jane searched the crowd, a look of worry furling her brow. “Are you okay?” Bat asked. “Who are you looking for?” Realization dawned in Charley’s eyes and he knew the answer to Bat’s question. “California Joe ain’t here. I think the government has him out huntin’ Indians.” The name wasn’t familiar to Bat. He leaned over to Charley. “Who’s California Joe?” “Remember when I mentioned that Reb, Jonah Hex?” Jane asked, overhearing his question. “You said that was one feller you didn’t want to git on the bad side of. Well, California Joe is cut from that same cloth.” She managed the hint of a smile. “I hope that son of a…” she looked at the preacher. “I hope McCall is still in town when he gits back.” After the preacher spoke to the trio for a few moments, offering what few words of comfort he could, he started back to town. They lingered until the grave was filled in, then started back themselves. “So,” Charley said to Bat, “how long are you plannin’ on hangin’ around?” “I’m not sure,” Bat replied. “Given what has happened…” Jane stopped walking and turned to him. “Don’t you be thinkin’ you need to hang around here on my account.” Charley’s eyes widened at the sting her words held. Realizing how she sounded, Jane put her hand on Bat’s arm. “I didn’t mean that how it sounded, Bat.” “I know,” Bat said. “It’s okay.” “No, it ain’t.” Jane teared up. “I know I’ve only known you for a couple days, Bat, but I thank ya for stickin’ around this long. If ya got somewheres to be, you can go, an’ with my blessin’s.” Bat pushed his hat back on his head. “I ain’t ready to go just yet. At least not while McCall is still around. Besides, I got an idea.”
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Post by lee on Sept 24, 2023 17:09:10 GMT
For the next couple days, Jane spent most of her days away from Deadwood, tending to those in the mining camps. While she was away, Jack McCall was making his way around town bragging about how Will Bill wasn’t so wild when he faced a real man. He was leaning against the bar in the Number 10 when he noticed someone step to the bar and order a beer. “Yer that feller what’s been hangin’ around with Jane,” McCall said. “If yer lookin’ fer trouble, I was dee-clared “not guilty” by a jury.” Bat placed a coin on the bar when the bartender handed him his beer. “Keep it,” the bartender said, and slid it back to him. Bat tipped his hat, then took a sip. He then glanced at McCall. “You’ve got enough trouble comin’ your way without me addin’ to it.” “What ‘re ya talkin’ about, Stranger?” McCall asked, giving Bat his full attention. Bat took another sip of beer before answering. “Word of your deeds in Deadwood have already gone out into the world. Rumor has it not everyone is happy ‘bout those deeds.” Jack puffed out his chest. “I killed Wild Bill Hickok. I ain’t a feared of nobody.” “Not even California Joe?” Bat asked, innocently. He took another sip. “That is one hombre I wouldn’t want to meet.” Jack said nothing, but Bat noticed a bead of sweat forming on his brow. “He was good friends with Hickok, or so I’ve heard,” Bat said. “I heard tell he even suggest the air around here might be bad for your health.” With that, Bat drained his mug, then left the saloon. Once outside, Bat crossed the street and ducked behind a wagon. Removing his hat to be less noticeable, he watched the doors of the saloon. His wait was shorter than he expected as less than five minutes had passed when Jack McCall exited the building. The man looked around, his face visibly relaxing when he apparently didn’t see who he was looking for, and started up the street. Bat watched him for a few minutes, then followed, keeping at least four businesses between him and McCall. After a few minutes of walking, Jack entered a building so Bat walked past and entered a shop two doors down. “Can I help you?” the man behind the small counter asked. Bat shook his head, glancing at the man, then turned his attention back to the door he had purposely left open a bit. “I know you,” the man said. “Your that feller who accompanied Calamity to the funeral.” Bat nodded. “Shame that no good varmint got away with murderin’ Wild Bill.” Again, Bat nodded. Before he knew it, the man was right behind him. “I bet your watchin’ for McCall right now. If you’ve a mind to introduce him to Ole Lucifer, I got a back door you can use after.” Bat smiled. “I appreciate that, but I am just tryin’ to get him to leave town. Once he’s away from here, I suspect he will get what’s comin’ to him.” “Got yourself a plan, do ya?” the man said, his voice dropping to a whisper as they saw Jack step back out into the street. “You might say that?” Bat whispered as he stepped toward the door. “Say, could you do me favor?” “Absolutely,” the man replied. “Could you find Charlie Utter for me and tell him McCall left town? Let him know Bat will get justice for Wild Bill.” The man nodded and began to point. “Lookie there. He’s mountin’ up and leavin’.” Bat smiled to himself. “I can see that.” He remained where he was for another minute before heading out to where his own horse was saddled and waiting. The shop owner gave him a five minute head-start before closing his store and going in search of Charlie Utter.
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Post by lee on Sept 24, 2023 17:10:11 GMT
Bat trailed Jack from the Dakota Territory southwest into the Wyoming Territory. He always made certain he was just far enough away not to be seen, but close enough to know exactly where McCall was going. For the better part of three weeks, the two men traveled across the territory, one never knowing he was being followed, the other knowing he would never stay behind. Regardless of where they went, Bat had to listen to Jack recount how he had outdrew Wild Bill Hickok. With each telling, his encounter with the famed gunslinger became grander and more daring. As much as it stuck in his craw, Bat held his peace while a plan formed in his head. It was only when he was sure of Jack’s destination that he overtook the assassin and raced on into Laramie. Stopping at the first saloon he came to, Bat entered, walked to the bar, and ordered a beer. He had just set it down after his first drink when he heard someone behind him. “I recognize you,” the man said. Bat turned. “And you, sir, have me at a disadvan…” His eyebrow raised. “Hold on. I do remember you.” The man stuck his hand out. “I’m Colonel George May.” Bat accepted the colonel’s hand with a smile. “You were the prosecutor in Deadwood trial.” “Travesty, you mean.” “McCall is on his way here,” Bat said. “I know,” the colonel replied. “Your friend, Charley, told me he, and you, were heading into the Wyoming Territory as soon as you let him know. It was a guess you would end up here in Laramie.” “So, why are you in Laramie?” Bat asked. “To arrest, and try, Jack McCall for the murder of James Butler Hickok,” Colonel May said, taking a drink of his own beer. “I’m not one of those big city lawyers from back east,” Bat said, “but I didn’t think you could try a man twice for the same crime.” “You can’t,” the colonel said, “unless the first trial was illegal.” Bat was surprised. “What do you mean illegal?” “Deadwood has no legal jurisdiction. And because it is not under a legally constituted law enforcement or court system, double jeopardy does not apply.” Bat couldn’t help but grin. “Don’t celebrate just yet,” Colonel May told him. “We have to get him in custody first.” “I might just be able to help,” Bat said. “I’ve got an idea.”
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Post by lee on Sept 24, 2023 17:26:06 GMT
Laramie, the Wyoming Territory, August 29, 1876— Jack McCall entered the saloon and looked around. After a moment, he spied what he was looking for; a lone patron. With practiced ease, he approached the man and lightly bumped against him. “Hey, watch it,” the man said, his words slurred. “Name’s Jack McCall, friend,” he replied. “Perhaps you have heard of me?” “McCall?” The man appeared to be churning the name over in his mind. After a moment, his eyes widened a little. “Aren’t you...you’re that feller what killed Hickok.” Jack smiled as the man ordered him a beer and began to recite his well-practiced tale of glory. After stretching out the highly embellished long enough for a second beer, he searched the saloon for another free drink. Seeing no one, he left and went in search of another saloon. Less than a minute passed before Bat and the colonel entered and approached the drunk. When the man looked up from his beer, he smiled. “Well, what did he say?” Colonel May asked. All appearances of a drunkard vanished as the man straightened up. “He did everything but come right out and admit it.” “So,” Bat asked, “do you have enough to arrest him?” “I will still need a warrant,” the man said, “but as a deputy U.S. Marshal, I shouldn’t have much trouble getting one. We can head over to the see the judge right now.” In less than hour, the trio had a signed warrant for the arrest of Jack McCall. Jack was exiting his third saloon when he spotted three men coming toward him from up the street. The first man he recognized at the one who had warned him about California Joe, Bat...something. He was surprised to see him traveling with the second man; he was the colonel acted as the prosecutor during his trial. There was something abut the third man that seemed familiar, but he couldn’t quite place him. Since their gait was easy, and he had just enjoyed his fourth beer and sixth whiskey, he thought this was nothing more than a coincidental encounter. That all changed when he heard the third man speak. “Jack McCall. You are under arrest for the murder of James Butler “Wild Bill” Hickok.” * * * * * Bat Lash stood in the telegraph office, patiently waiting his turn. When he finally stepped up to the counter, the telegraph operator pulled out a piece of paper and a pencil. “Where is this being sent?” “Deadwood. It is for Colorado Charley Utter, but can be delivered to the Number 10 Saloon if Charley can’t be found.” “And what is the message?” Bat thought for a minute. “McCall has been arrested again. Tell Jane justice will finally be served.” The End
Author’s Note—Jack McCall was taken to Yankton, back in the Dakota Territroy to stand trial. The trial began on December 4, 1876. Wild Bill’s brother, Lorenzo Butler Hickok. He was found guilty on December 6, 1876. On March 1, 1877, at 10:10 AM, Jack McCall was hanged by the neck until he was dead. His final words were believed to be, in regards to the noose, “Draw it tighter, Marshal.” McCall became the first person to be legally executed in the Dakota Territory. It was later discovered Jack McCall never had a brother.
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Post by dans on Sept 24, 2023 23:03:00 GMT
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Post by lawrenceliberty on Sept 25, 2023 19:32:02 GMT
Nicely detailed story. You do a good job at setting the scene.
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