Fireblossom (5 page)

July 7, 1876

Daniel Matthews rode into Deadwood from the south, downhill into the crazy zig-zagging gulch. It was hot and the town stank, revealing its character before he could take a visual inventory.

The Black Hills themselves, one hundred miles long and sixty miles wide, were still nearly as enchanting as they had been when he'd first visited them with Lakota people half a dozen years ago. A lush, forested, game-rich island rising miraculously out of an endless sea of grass, the Hills possessed a unique beauty that far surpassed any grander mountains he'd ever seen. Even now, the land was still breathtakingly beautiful... until Deadwood's assault on the eyes.

Most of Main Street was blocked by two newly arrived bull trains. The oxen, mooing plaintively, were slumped in the mud in front of supply wagons now being unloaded by surging crowds of men. People were everywhere, scurrying in and out of tents, shouting at one another in the street, leaning out of windows in various states of undress. The town was pure, unbridled chaos.

Matthews pushed back his brown slouch hat and slowed his roan, whom he'd christened Watson during one particularly endless day in Wyoming. It made him feel sad and frustrated to see what his own people had done to this pristine haven. On the other hand, Deadwood was exactly the kind of town he needed. Disreputable characters of every sort wandered in and out of gold towns virtually unnoticed; scoundrels, outlaws, and others running from something or someone were the rule rather than the exception. Right now, Dan welcomed the prospect of blending in among them, unnoticed and unknown. He was grateful to have planned for an extended stay in the West; he had brought plenty of money.

His emotions had been intense following the final scene with Custer and his departure from the Seventh Cavalry. Now, however, Dan mainly felt fed up. He'd considered returning immediately to Washington, but he didn't much feel like facing the president. Custer had been right on one count—Grant was the person responsible for setting in motion the chain of events that led to the insanity at Little Bighorn.

Lying awake these past nights under the starry Wyoming sky, Dan had gone over the scenes between Custer and himself. He felt faintly sick about the whole business, since it was clear that his arguments had only incited Custer further. Perhaps if he had taken a different tack, less true to his own beliefs but tailored to appeal to Custer, he might have had more success.

The hell with it
,
Dan thought now
.
Deadwood was just the place to lie low for a while and wait for the dust he'd raised with Custer to settle.

Smiling grimly, Dan reflected that he'd be a bit difficult to recognize these days. He was scruffy and much leaner, having barely eaten during much of his ride through the unceded territory, where there were no forts or white settlements. He'd bought some of his clothes off friendly Cheyenne Indians near the border of Wyoming Territory. Snug buckskin trousers were stuffed into well-worn boots, and he wore a shirt of faded blue chambray with a brick red kerchief knotted loosely around his neck to soak up excess sweat. A holster and a Smith & Wesson Schofield .45 single-action revolver completed the picture. It wasn't showy, just extremely effective.

When it became nearly impossible to guide Watson through the dense crowds, Dan tied up the horse in front of a false-fronted building bearing a sign that read "Pioneer Printing Office". As he dismounted he was met by a man wearing a paper collar and a worn brown suit.

"New here, aren't you?" He thrust a newspaper into Dan's hands. "Permit me to introduce myself, pilgrim. I'm C. V. Gardner, publisher of the
Black Hills Pioneer.
We've only been printing a month."

Gardner wore a beard and his deep-set eyes made Dan think of a mournful hound. "Pleased to meet you, Gardner," he said, shaking his hand. "My name's Fox, and I've just ridden in from the southern Hills." Glancing down at the newspaper, Dan saw stories on Deadwood's celebration of the centennial Fourth of July. "Where can I get a bed and a decent meal?"

Gardner winked almost imperceptibly. "Depends on what sort of bed you had in mind. North of Wall Street, you can get yourself plenty of whiskey, a warm little chippie, and probably a bed, too. Try the Gem Theatre first, if you're interested."

Sensing that his eyebrows were about to fly up at this information, Dan nodded soberly and went on his way. He'd encountered his share of hard drinkers and soiled doves over the years, particularly during the war, but such pastimes were indulged in with a measure of discretion. Clearly Deadwood was a different sort of place.

The prospect of a bed warmed by a willing woman was tempting, but first he needed food. Salvation appeared in the form of the Grand Central Hotel, which, with just one story constructed thus far, served only meals. Dan went in and consumed huge quantities of mutton, beans, mashed potatoes, and apple dumplings with cream, all for fifty cents. While he ate, he read most of the
Black Hills Pioneer
and drank three mugs of coffee. Finally, his hunger appeased and many of his questions about Deadwood answered, he found himself dreaming of a whiskey, some leisurely conversation at a bar, and perhaps some female companionship.

He swung into the saddle again, bound for the makeshift livery stable down Main Street. They called this part of Deadwood the "badlands," he'd read in the
Pioneer
and it was wilder than any place he'd ever seen. The freight wagons were unloaded now, and bullwhackers cracked their long whips as they moved the protesting oxen down Main Street. Crates containing everything from store fixtures to caskets were stacked in front of buildings. Now that the excitement was dying down, the gamblers and serious drinkers were wandering back into the saloons.

The Gem Theatre had a balcony that was currently crowded with fancy ladies, rouged and scantily clad. They'd come out to investigate the latest shipments of goods, calling out questions about lace, perfume, and other hoped-for finery. Now, the sight of Dan riding slowly in their direction caused the girls to linger.

"Hey, handsome!" called one. Blessed with long black curls, she wore a flowered silk wrapper sliding off her plump shoulders. "Come on in! Tell Al you want Victoria!"

"No!" countered a slimmer blonde, laughing. "Tell him Bessie! What's
your
name?"

"Fox." It was a pleasure to be in a town where surnames and past histories were cumbersome details easier left unspoken.

Now they all began calling to him at once, leaning over the balcony railing to display their charms. Pushing back his hat, he flashed a grin.

"I just have to stable my horse," he told the girls. "Pour me a whiskey and I'll be straight up."

"I'll just bet you will!" one of them answered in a naughtily suggestive tone, then they all scurried back inside, giggling.

Dan looked around, noticing the strong smell of incense that wafted south from Chinatown. Drawing on the reins, he began to guide Watson across the still-crowded thoroughfare, heading toward the livery.

Then he saw the boy.

He couldn't have been more than nine or ten, with brown eyes the size of saucers. First he crept around the corner of the neighboring Green Front Theatre and paused in the narrow alleyway. Since all the rooms weren't finished upstairs, there were a couple of curtained booths that opened off the alley. It was supposed to be a convenience; men in a hurry could have a girl standing up, without going upstairs or even bothering to remove their trousers.

Dan had seen a great deal but this shocked him. Then, the sight of a little boy leaning forward to peek around the edge of the curtain was more than he could tolerate. In an instant he was at the entrance to the alleyway.

"Come over here." He spoke from the saddle, high above the child. "I won't hurt you."

The boy's clothes were soiled, but of good quality. He wore brown pants held up by suspenders, a plaid shirt, and muddy boots that looked as if they'd been custom-made for his small feet. His sandy hair stuck up in cowlicks. "My pa says I shouldn't talk to strangers," he piped.

"What's your name, son?"

"Benjamin."

"Well, Benjamin," Dan said with a slow smile, "I have a suspicion that your pa doesn't want you running loose in the badlands, either. There are a lot worse folks than me around here, so why don't you come on up and let me take you home." He couldn't believe he was saying it himself, considering the other pressing appointments on his schedule, but he didn't see that he had a choice.

Benjamin retreated, nearly backing right into the curtained booth. However, before he could make matters worse, Dan brought Watson forward until the boy was within reach. He scooped up the struggling youngster as if he were a sack of feathers and let the roan prance daintily back into Main Street.

"Now then," Dan said firmly, "I'd be obliged if you'd direct me to your house, or tent, or wherever it is you live."

"I don't want you to take me home, mister!"

"I can assure you that I am not delivering you back into your parents' care because I
want
to do so, either. So stop wasting my time and show me the quickest route. I have other matters to attend to."

"I know! I heard you talking to those fancy ladies," Benjamin dared to blurt, then pointed south. "This way."

"Little hellion," Dan muttered between clenched teeth. "Your parents ought to keep you on a chain!"

* * *

"Gramma Susan, where did Benjamin say he was going? I can't see him from the windows, even upstairs."

Madeleine came into the kitchen where her grandmother had begun hanging the blue calico curtains they'd sewn.

"How charming they look!" she exclaimed. Actually she would never have chosen the calico if there had
been
a choice, but that was true of the entire house. Maddie felt as if she were spending every waking hour endeavoring to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear.

Susan stood beside her granddaughter to admire the curtains. "You'll never be content here if you can't lower your own standards, you know. As for Benjamin, I thought he said he was going down the hill to play with the Gordon boy on Pine Street."

"I've asked him to stay in sight." Worriedly Maddie peered out the window. "There's far too much mischief for a boy his age to get into in a town like this. I do
not
intend to lower my standards for Benjamin, Gramma!" Glancing down at her pretty peach-and-cream-striped taffeta walking dress, Maddie thought stubbornly that she would not lower her personal standards, either, no matter what anyone said. She had been raised a lady and would remain one, even in rollicking, sinful Deadwood.

"It's a shame there are so many flies," Susan was saying as she fanned herself.

Worry about Benjamin joined with the oppressive late afternoon heat to fray Maddie's temper. "I think I'll go outside and call him. Almost anything could happen to such a little boy. If Father were home more, I'm sure Benjamin wouldn't be so quick to misbehave!"

Susan sighed as she watched her granddaughter hurry out of the kitchen, skirts raised against the very thought of dust, every modest curl pinned neatly in place. Madeleine was certainly right about Stephen. Ever since they'd arrived, he'd been away more and more. Two days ago he'd announced that he had to leave Deadwood, muttering about mining supplies. Who knew when he'd return? The situation outraged Susan. What if she hadn't come with the children? And even so, this was not the sort of town where an old woman, a beautiful girl, and a scamp of a boy ought to be left all alone to fend for themselves.

* * *

It was cooler outside and there was a faint scent of pine up here above the town. Gazing down the path, Maddie saw no sign of her brother and knew a sharp pang of worry. She called his name in a high voice that sounded foolishly inadequate. Her face felt warm.

Then came the sound of hoofbeats against packed mud.

Maddie made out the roan first, turning past the stand of pine trees, then the familiar sight of Benjamin's pale, freckled face and spiky hair. When she looked at the big man who held him captive in the saddle, she immediately felt a tightness in her breast.

Never in her life had she seen a more appealingly, overwhelmingly masculine man.

The details were blurred: he was tall, lean but brawny, deeply tanned with an approachable white smile. Bearded, yet possessed of a ruggedly chiseled face. His eyes were a saturated blue, like a mountain lake. His hands were large, strong, long-fingered.

"What are you doing with my brother?" Maddie demanded as he drew near. "I must insist that you release him and identify yourself!"

Dan looked bemused. "For God's sake, lady, I'm doing you a favor!"

When Benjamin fought to scramble down from the saddle, Dan let him go and the boy nearly landed face first in the mud.

"Maddie, he practically kidnapped me! He just grabbed me up on his horse! Isn't that against the law? He could've sold me to the Injins or something!"

The man found Benjamin's last bit of business extremely amusing. When he stopped laughing and looked down, he met the flashing green eyes of the most exquisite woman he'd seen west of Washington, D.C. "My young friend has a flair for melodrama," he said, "honed perhaps during visits to the Green Front...."

"The... Green Front?" Maddie repeated, wrinkling her brow. "What is that?"

"Well, it appears to call itself a theater, ma'am."

Thoroughly confused and alarmed, Madeleine looked down to find that Benjamin had scurried behind her. "But, surely you don't mean to imply that my brother was in... that part of town!"

"We've reached the point where I ought to speak to the boy's father." Dan swung down from Watson's back and stood towering over her. "This really isn't a matter for your delicate sensibilities."

"I've no doubt that you are correct, sir—"

"Please, call me Fox... Maddie." He felt like Fox now, comfortable in the name.

Before she could reply, his strong dark hand reached out and lightly captured her slim fingers. To her dismay, his touch caused her heart to beat harder and her hand seemed to tingle in his. Instinctively, she pulled free.