The Bisbee Massacre Page 6

  They headed out.

  When they reached the trail split where they had parted company, they found Bill Daniels there, sitting on a rock, waiting. He had another man with him, who turned out to be Manuel’s brother. He looked relieved to see them coming his way. The two brothers embraced. When Manuel’s brother heard from Daniels that Manuel was still in the mountains, he insisted on coming along to find him.

  “Been wonderin’ where you boys got to,” he said. “I see you got Dowd.”

  They dismounted, shook hands with the deputy.

  “How’d you do?” Dodge asked.

  “We followed the trail to Minas Prietas and arrested William Delaney there. We took ’im back to Tombstone, and when we got there we found three men in jail already—Tex Howard, Red Sample, and York Kelly.”

  “You got us all, then,” Dowd said. He stood with his hands cuffed in front of him, his head bowed. “Along with John Heath.”

  “Whataya think?” Dodge asked Daniels.

  “Yeah, we got ’em all. They’re fixin’ to try Heath first off.”

  “We better get back, then, and let ’em know we got the last one,” Dodge said. “Sheriff Ward in town?”

  “He is, and folks are sayin’ he’s got somethin’ planned.”

  “Like what?”

  Daniels shrugged.

  “Somethin’ that’ll get him reelected, for sure, they say.”

  “Ward’s a snake,” Dodge said. “We better get back before somethin’ bad happens.”

  “Somethin’ bad happened when Ward got elected the first time,” Daniels pointed out.

  “Manuel, you and your brother get Dowd up on his horse,” Dodge said.

  “Sí, señor.”

  Dodge turned to Clint.

  “What do you think is going to happen?” Clint asked.

  “I don’t know,” Dodge said, “but I wouldn’t put nothin’ past Jerome Ward—nothin’ at all. We better get back quick.”

  TWENTY

  On the way back to Tombstone, Daniels told them the story of how the others had been arrested. Apparently, a colleague of Fred Dodge’s in Wells Fargo, the famous lawman J. B. Hume—who Clint also knew—had been instrumental in letting Sheriff Jerome Ward know where the three men were holed up. Hume and a lawman named Tucker had taken in York Kelly, who had given up the names of the other two.

  “So somebody else did all the work for Ward,” Dodge said, “and he’s come in and taken all the credit.”

  “Pretty much.”

  Dodge looked at Clint.

  “That’s just like the man.”

  Daniels also told Dodge that Charley Smith had come back to town, having recovered from his ailment. At least Dodge was happy about that.

  So when Dodge, Clint, and the others got back to Tombstone with Jack Dowd, that put all of the men responsible for the Bisbee Massacre—York, Howard, Sample, Heath, Delaney, and Dowd—in the Cochise County jailhouse, with Sheriff Ward strutting around with his chest all puffed out.

  Clint had decided to stay in town for the trials of all the men. During the trials he found out that the store they had robbed had acted as the Bisbee bank, so it hadn’t been hard for them to get hold of the money. They’d killed a lot of people doing it, though, so they were all found guilty and sentenced to hang.

  But John Heath had only been found guilty of being an accessory, so he was sentenced to life. The people of Bisbee and Tombstone didn’t like that.

  But what was done, was done.

  Or was it?

  Some days later Dodge had to ride out of town to negotiate the return of two six-guns belonging to J. B. Hume. Hume had used the guns in thwarting a stagecoach robbery. Since Clint was the only one who knew that Dodge was also a Wells Fargo man he was asked to go with Dodge, and agreed. So they were out of town for several days.

  As they returned to Tombstone they realized immediately that something had happened. Even from a mile and a half away they could see that something was going on.

  When they reached town most of the crowd has dispersed, and they saw something hanging from a telegraph pole. By the time they reached it, they could see that it was the body of John Heath. The coroner, Pat Holland, had taken charge and was having the body taken down.

  “What happened here, Pat?” Dodge asked.

  “Lynch mob,” Holland said.

  “Who was at the head of it?”

  “John Shaunessy.”

  “No.”

  “Who’s Shaunessy?” Clint asked.

  “Foreman of the Grand Central Mine—and I thought, a good friend of mine.” Dodge looked at Holland. “You sure?”

  “I seen him,” the man said.

  “Where was Sheriff Ward?”

  “Ward made it real easy for them, Fred,” Holland said. “The people here and in Bisbee was upset about Heath gettin’ off with life. Ward practically gave them the keys to the cell.”

  Dodge sat back in his saddle.

  “This is what he was plannin’,” he said to Clint. “Figures by lettin’ the townspeople have Heath, he wrapped up the next election.”

  “And maybe he did,” Holland said.

  “Not if I have anythin’ to say about it,” Dodge said.

  As they rode into town they could hear the mob celebrating at Pony Brown’s Saloon. They left their horses at the livery and walked over to the saloon.

  “You don’t have to come in with me if you don’t wanna,” Dodge said.

  “You going to try to arrest them?”

  “Naw,” Dodge said, “can’t arrest a whole mob. And if I take Shaunessy in, Ward would probably just let him go.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “Give ’em a piece of my mind, I guess.”

  “I’ll back you,” Clint said.

  “Okay,” Dodge said, “let’s go.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  When Clint and Dodge entered Pony Brown’s, Clint followed his friend right to the bar. There was a table crowded with men who were laughing and pounding one another on the backs. Clint knew this had to be the celebrating mob.

  “Two beers,” Dodge said to the bartender.

  “You hear about—” the barman started, but Dodge cut him off.

  “I heard, Ike,” Dodge said. “Just bring the two beers, huh?”

  “Sure, Fred.”

  As Ike went off to get the beer, Dodge said to Clint, “Ike Roberts. He’s a constable.”

  “Guess he didn’t do anything to stop these fellows, either. That them?”

  “Yep,” Dodge said. “That’s Shaunessy right in the middle of ’em.”

  “How do you want to play it?”

  “Let ’em come to us.”

  Clint nodded.

  Roberts returned with the two beers and set them down in front of them.

  “Thanks, Ike.”

  Suddenly, the men at the table quieted down, as if they noticed Dodge at the bar.

  “Hello, Fred,” Shaunessy said.

  “Hello, John,” Dodge said, and nothing else.

  He and Clint sipped their beers. Eventually, the men at the table couldn’t take the silence anymore.

  “Well,” Shaunessy finally said, “you boys saw the work. What do you think of it?”

  Dodge turned to face the man.

  “Yeah, we saw the effects of your work, John.”

  “Well?” Shaunessy asked. “What did you think of it?”

  “You don’t want to know what I think, John.”

  “Yeah, I do,” Shaunessy insisted. “Come on, Fred. What do you think?”

  “Okay, since you insist,” Dodge said. “I think you are all a bunch of no-account, murdering, law-breaking, cowardly scoundrels.”

  Shaunessy stood up so fast his chair fell over.

  “You got no love for John Heath, Fred,” he said. “I know that. You got no call—”

  “I’m wearin’ a badge, John,” Dodge said, “and you boys committed murder. I got call.”

  Shaunessy looked at Cli
nt, then.

  “You’re Adams, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, whataya think?”

  “That goes for me, too, Shaunessy,” Clint said. “I’ll back Deputy Dodge all the way.”

  Dodge turned his back and leaned on the bar. Clint followed. Shaunessy stood there for a few moments, then righted his chair and sat down. The mob was quiet.

  “What happened, Ike?” Dodge asked.

  “Hell, Fred,” Roberts said, “couldn’t have been more than half a dozen guns on the mob. Will Ward practically left the door open for them.”

  “That’s Ward’s son, his jailer,” Dodge said.

  “It was planned, Fred,” Roberts said. “I didn’t know nothin’ about it.”

  “I know you didn’t, Ike.” Dodge dropped some money on the bar.

  “Hell, Fred, you’re a deputy,” Roberts said. “You don’t have to pay.”

  “No, I ain’t,” Dodge said, “and yeah, I do.”

  He walked out, Clint following him. The first man they encountered was Sheriff Jerome Ward.

  “Jesus, Fred, there you are,” Ward said. “A goddamned lynch mob practically killed my son breakin’ Heath out and then they hung him—”

  Dodge stopped Ward by taking his deputy commission from his pocket, tearing it up and throwing it in the man’s face.

  “Yeah, I know about it, Ward,” Dodge said. “And you’re an accessory before and after the fact.”

  He took his badge off and dropped it at the man’s feet.

  He walked away.

  Ward looked at Clint.

  “You’re Adams, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s wrong with—”

  “The law’s the law, Ward,” Clint said. “If it was me, I would have stuck that badge up your goddamned ass.”

  He turned and walked away.

  As it turned out, the townspeople and the miners didn’t appreciate a sheriff who would conspire with a lynch mob.

  Ward did not even run in the next election, and Bob Hatch was elected Sheriff.

  TWENTY-TWO

  TOMBSTONE, ARIZONA TERRITORY

  1886

  Clint had managed to replay the entire Bisbee Massacre in his head while taking his bath. When he finished, he stepped out, bathed and cleanly shaven, and decided he needed some new duds to go with his otherwise fresh appearance.

  He spent some time buying a couple of shirts, some new trousers, socks, and underwear, but stayed with the same hat, which he’d had for some time.

  After his shopping he went back to the hotel to his room to change into his new clothes. By then it was about time to go over to the Bird Cage and check it out while waiting for Dodge. And he was looking forward to that steak.

  As he entered the Bird Cage he saw that little had changed, but it still felt very different to him. Must have had something to do with Doc Holliday’s faro table being tended by someone else. Also, no Wyatt Earp—no Earps at all.

  He went to the bar and ordered a beer, looking at himself in the mirror on the wall behind the bartender. He wondered how many famous and infamous men had looked in the same mirror? He also wondered what they saw?

  “Passin’ through?” the bartender asked. He was young—too young to have been there during the O.K. Corral or the Bisbee Massacre.

  It seemed a little busy in the place for the man to want to make conversation.

  “Visiting a friend,” Clint said. “But I’ve been here before—many times.”

  The young bartender nodded, went to wait on some new blood. Clint turned, leaned against the bar, and nursed his beer. There was nothing happening on stage at the moment, but he knew the cribs on the lower level would be full. There were several girls working the floor, and the games were in full swing. He didn’t bother looking for an open chair, though. He wouldn’t have wanted to be involved in a game when Dodge showed up.

  He wondered why Dodge was still with Wells Fargo? He hadn’t seen him since 1883, but he had seen Jim Hume a couple of years ago. They had talked about Dodge a bit. Clint wondered how Dodge could keep working undercover, and being a deputy, and being a constable, and keeping all the jobs straight. At least he used the same name for each job. It wasn’t like he was undercover using an assumed name. That was the kind of thing his friend Jim West, the Secret Service agent, used to do. West liked it, and kept doing it, so he figured Dodge must have liked what he was doing and was probably still doing it.

  Hume was more of a supervisor these days than an agent, and he had a very high opinion of Dodge, as did Clint. He also knew his friend in Denver, Talbot Roper, respected Fred Dodge, as well. It was amazing how the Wells Fargo agents, the Pinkertons, and private detectives, as well as the Secret Service agents all seemed to know one another—or, at least, know of each other. The one man Clint had not heard from in some time was an Irishman named O’Grady, who also worked for the Secret Service. No telling what he as doing, now.

  He finished his beer, decided to get a second and nurse it even slower, but at that moment Dodge came walking in. Clint waved to the young bartender and held up two fingers. The man nodded.

  “Got a beer coming,” Clint said as Dodge joined him at the bar.

  “Good, I can use it.”

  “Still juggling jobs, eh?”

  “Most days I enjoy it,” Dodge said. “Better than doin’ the same exact thing every day.”

  “But not today?”

  “It’s been kind of a rough day, and I think it’s gonna get rougher.”

  “How so?”

  The beer came and he nodded to the barman. Dodge took a deep drink before answering.

  “There are some neighbors outside of town I think are headin’ for trouble.”

  “What kind?”

  “The domestic kind,” Dodge said.

  “Oh, yeah, I think I heard something about that.”

  “From who?”

  “I forgot to tell you I talked to Hatch earlier,” Clint said. “He was looking for some fellow named Riggs, I think?”

  “Barney and Bannock,” Dodge said. “Barney’s the younger, and he’s married. Seems he thinks his neighbor, fella name of Hudson, has been seein’ his wife.”

  “And has he?”

  Dodge rolled his eyes.

  “Probably.”

  “Aren’t there enough women in Tombstone without going after somebody’s wife?”

  “You’d think,” Dodge said. “Plenty of women workin’ downstairs.”

  Dodge shook his head and drank his beer.

  “That all that’s botherin’ you?”

  “No,” Dodge said. “But I’ll tell you over a steak. Cattleman’s?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  They both finished their beers and set the empty mugs down on the bar.

  “Place looks the same, don’t it?” Dodge asked.

  “Yeah,” Clint said, with a nod, “and yet so different, you know?”

  Dodge looked around, then said, “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

  They left and headed for Cattleman’s Steak House.

  TWENTY-THREE

  When they were situated at a table against a wall with steak dinners in front of them, Dodge said. “It’s Bob Hatch.”

  “Your sheriff? What about him?”

  “He’s doin’ the same thing Barney Riggs’s neighbor is doin’,” Dodge said.

  “With the same woman?”

  “No,” Dodge said, “with his neighbor’s wife.”

  “Jesus, things sure have changed around here,” Clint said. “I’m used to people trying to shoot each other, but all this . . . infidelity.”

  “I know,” Dodge said.

  “How do you know about Hatch?”

  “He brags,” Dodge said. “He has a room at the end of town and he meets her there.”

  “Is Hatch married?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s he thinking?”

  “He ain’t thinkin’,” Dodge said. “Or maybe
he’s just thinkin’ with his dick.”

  “A lot of men have gotten in trouble doing that,” Clint said.

  “Thank God I’m too busy.”

  “Ah,” Clint said, “the perfect reason to have three jobs.”

  “Well, it keeps me out of this kind of trouble.”

  “Have you talked to Hatch about it?”

  “I have,” Dodge said, cutting into his meat. “He brags about it, I told you. He’s proud of himself. He’s got his wife uptown and his woman downtown.”

  “Makes him feel powerful,” Clint said, chewing a piece of steak.

  “Yes!” Dodge said, gesturing with his knife. “That’s it. He walks around with his chest all puffed out, like he can do anything.”

  “Is it affecting his job?”

  “I wish I could say it was,” Dodge said. “But if it was I wouldn’t want to take over. Actually being the sheriff would just get in my way.”

  “What about Charley?”

  “He don’t wanna be sheriff, either,” Dodge said.

  “So nobody wants the job and Hatch does. Let him do it. If he messes it up, let him mess it up.”

  “I don’t care who messes what up,” Dodge said. “I just don’t want people getting killed.”

  “I can’t blame you for that.”

  “To tell you the truth, Clint,” Dodge said, “I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. I may have to come in from the outside, eventually.”

  “You mean as a Wells Fargo agent?” Clint said. “Let everybody know?”

  “Well, not everybody,” Dodge said. “I mean, I won’t put it in the newspapers, but I’d carry my credentials and identify myself.”

  “So no more deputy’s badges?”

  “No,” Dodge said, “just my Wells Fargo badge.”

  “Do you have it on you?” Clint asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one.”

  “No,” Dodge said, “I don’t carry it. I’ve got it hidden away. It’s good-lookin’, though. I’ll show it to you, some time.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.”

  They continued to eat and talk and, when they were done, paid their bill and stepped outside. Immediately, someone came running up to Dodge. It was Charley Smith.