The Case of the Petrified Man (16 page)

I RAN BACK DOWN
the steep mountainside between buildings, the way I had come.

When I got to the manure pile behind the Flora Temple Livery Stable I saw that Martha was still safe in her barley sack. But smoke was pouring up & flames were licking at the roof of the stable & I could hear horses whinny inside. Those two pretty white mares were in danger. And that buckskin mustang, too.

Without pausing for thought, I ran to the little back door o f the stable, the one I had left unbolted.

I opened it & a blast of heat nearly knocked me
back. But the flames had not quite reached the rear stalls. I saw Sissy & Sassy rearing up and pawing the air in terror.

I ran to them & undid the latch on their stall door & opened it & stood back. They thundered past me through the narrow door into the scent of fresh night air. I heard shouting and saw figures through the smoke, leading horses out through the front. Only one other horse remained in the stables. It was the buckskin mustang. He screamed with fear & reared up. The heat was almost too much to bear, but I ran forward at a crouch & quickly tried to undo the latch on his stall door. It was so hot that it burned my fingers, but finally the door flew open. I fell back as the terrified mustang charged after the mares. I did not blame him. Horses hate fire above all things. It makes them crazy.

I had just struggled to my feet, choking for air & blinking against the sting of smoke when something knocked me down. It was a powerful waterfall coming from the heavens above. I lay gasping like a fish out of water until it passed.

For a brief moment I saw stars where the roof should have been, then I saw a great arc of glassy orange rise up and come crashing down upon me. It was a stream of water so strong that it pushed me across the slippery earth floor for a good three feet. Once again it passed, moving to my left, and I took this chance to scramble through the open back door of the stables.

For a moment I stood panting & drenched. Then I saw the three horses were still back there, neighing & rearing & trying to scrabble up the steep slope of the mountainside. One of the mares had become tangled in some sort of clothes line
and was rearing up perilously close to Martha in her gunnysack by the manure pile. I fumbled for my flint knife and got it out and severed the rope. Then I stroked the mare’s neck and calmed her using tricks my Indian ma had taught me.

The fire seemed to be out, but I could see the great arc of water from the fire hose still rising up into the sky and crashing down onto the charred roof of the stables. If it went any higher it might pass beyond the stables & thunder down upon the spot where I stood with the horses & spook them & then they might trample Martha in her gunnysack.

I needed to get them out from behind the stable.

The mustang was the shortest of the horses. I dug my fingers into his dark mane & pulled myself up onto his back. Then I spoke softly in his ear & urged him forward. We emerged from behind the stable and reached the small corral on its northern side. As I had hoped, the two mares followed close behind.

The night air was cool on my face. I could smell the pungent aroma of scorched, wet wood.

There were fourteen horses swirling around in an outside pen. Now that the fire was almost out, they were excited but not panicked.

In the street, on the other side of the corral, men were clustered around a fire engine. But it was not the one I had seen at the Young America Engine Company. This engine must belong to their rivals, the Virginia Engine Company No. 1.

It was over twice as long as the No. 2 engine & had eight men on either side, pumping up & down like the Devil. When 16 arms rose up on one side, 16 went down on the other. Two
more men held the hose, which was still throwing up a strong jet of water. They reminded me of the Dancing Girls at Topliffe’s Theatre. But this was not comedy. This was life and death.

“STOP PUMPING!” cried a voice louder than God’s. I could see a man in a leather fire helmet with No. 1 on it. He held a silver trumpet to his lips. He was not blowing the trumpet. He was giving orders through it. I reckoned he was the foreman of the Virginia Engine Company No. 1.

“WE HAVE DONE IT!” boomed his voice. “THE FIRE IS OUT!”

The exhausted firemen collapsed over their engine while everybody cheered and patted them on their backs. I slid off the buckskin mustang & opened the wooden gate of the corral & slapped his rump. He obediently went in, followed by Sally Sampson’s two white mares.

I had just closed the gate behind me when one of the stable hands shouted, “There he is! That boy started the fire!”

“Get him!” cried a man in a plug hat. I reckoned he was the proprietor, Mr. Joseph H. Gardiner.

I started to run, but they soon had me surrounded. The big stable hand gripped me tight & hoisted me aloft.

I do not like being touched & I hate being hoisted aloft.

“Lynch him!” cried a man’s voice.

“No!” said another. “Let’s soak him in coal oil and set him on fire!”

“Yeah!” said the one holding me. He threw me to the ground with such force that the wind was knocked from my lungs.

“Why, he’s just a boy!” cried a woman’s voice. I reckoned it was Mrs. Gardiner, the proprietor’s wife.

“Boys is the worst!” said the smaller stable hand, hardly more than a boy himself. “They gotta be taught!”

“Burn him!” screeched someone. “Burn him alive! That’ll learn him.”

I saw the little stable hand coming towards me with a tin can of kerosene.

The big one held a lit match.

BANG!

An upward flash of powder & the report of a gunshot stopped the two youths.

“Get away from him!” cried a man’s voice. “Get right away!”

The Rev. C.V. Anthony was pointing a .41 caliber single-shot Deringer towards the sky & glaring at the crowd. Everybody backed off.

The Reverend pocketed his still-smoking piece & helped me to my feet. “Tell me you did not set that fire, P.K.,” he said in a low voice.

“I did not set that fire,” I gasped, only now getting my breath back. “I had nothing to do with it.”

“He’s lying!” said the first stable boy. “Shandy and me saw him lurking by the back stall where the fire started!”

“I was trying to help a girl hiding out in the stables. I rescued your horses,” I said. “I did not set the fire.”

“Then who did?” asked Mr. Joseph H. Gardiner.

I said, “It was a hatless man wearing a cloak!”

“What hatless man?”

“I do not know. But he was tall and slim with a billy goat beard.”

“A likely story!” cried Mr. Joseph H. Gardiner.

“I say we lynch him!” cried a new voice.

“I got a piece of rope!” cried another.

Some C Street spectators had come over to join my persecutors.

“For shame!” cried the Rev. in his preacher’s voice. “Attempting to lynch a poor child without even a trial. I will take him to the Marshal’s where he will await fair justice.”

Once again I felt myself lifted bodily up into the air but this time I was folded over a Christian shoulder. As he pushed through the crowd, I had to hold on to my slouch hat lest it fall off. I heard angry voices shouting & I even felt a few fists pummel my back until the Rev. C.V. Anthony quoted John 8:7 in his preacher’s voice, “‘He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone’!”

At this the crowds parted and allowed him to hurry south along C Street and then turn uphill on Sutton. It was almost deserted there. I guess everybody in town had congregated by the burnt stable.

Now that we were away from the bloodthirsty mob, I started to struggle. “Let me go!” I said. “There is a girl I have to help. Do not take me to the Deputy Marshal!”

The Rev. C.V. Anthony stopped & I felt myself swung down. The sloping road slammed the soles of my feet through my thin moccasins. My sore shoulder throbbed as he gripped it hard.

“What girl?” he said. “What are you talking about?”

“There was an Eye Witness to Short Sally’s murder,” I said. “And the Killer is out to get her.”

“Who is this Eye Witness?” the Rev. asked me.

“A Negro girl. A lady’s maid,” I said. “About ten years old, wearing a nightdress and bonnet. I can prove I am not lying.” I pointed to a narrow space I had discovered earlier that day. “We can go through that alley, past the outhouses of the Fashion Saloon and between the backs of some other buildings.”

“I remember Sally’s little serving girl,” said the Rev. “You say she witnessed the deed? She knows the identity of the killer?”

“Yes, sir,” I said. “But she has a fever and might die if we do not get her to a doctor. Please will you help me?”

I COUNTED MYSELF LUCKY
on three counts that evening.

First, that the Methodist pastor, C.V. Anthony, happened to be present at the scene of the fire & saved me from a mob intent on burning and/or lynching me.

Second, that although of a slim build, he was strong enough to carry Martha in her barley sack down to Doc Pinkerton’s.

Third, that Doc Pinkerton agreed to care for Martha, even though she reeked of urine, sweat and horse manure. I know now that he is a good Christian.

We took Martha upstairs, and once again, I gently pinched her cheeks to wake her. I was eager to know if the Killer spoke with a German accent so that I could confirm it was Ludwig Hamm. Of the nine Suspects on my list, he was the only German.

But Martha was still burning up with fever & would not be roused. Doc Pinkerton left her in Mrs. Pinkerton’s care & walked us downstairs & told me to come back around 10:00 a.m. the following day to see if her fever might have broken.

The Rev. C.V. Anthony headed downhill to his own dinner while I set off through the crowds along C Street towards the International Hotel and my appointment with Jace. But I had not taken three steps along the boardwalk when a thought struck me.

It was a thought so terrible that my innards seemed to fall right down into my legs.

Charles Volney Anthony was No. 9 on my list of suspects. If my short time in Virginia had taught me one thing, it was this: do not trust anybody!

I thought, “Sally ran into an old friend the night she was killed and the Reverend is a new arrival in town!”

I also thought, “What was the Rev. doing at the scene of the fire?”

And finally, “What if he set the fire, discarded his cloak & pretended to save me so I would trust him and tell him where Martha was hiding?”

The Methodist pastor, C.V. Anthony, now knew where
she was, and even which room she was in, for he had carried her upstairs.

If the Rev.
was
the Killer, he could simply sneak back at the dead of night with a ladder, open the window & strangle her at his leisure.

I needed to move Martha one more time.

I needed to find an even safer place than Doc Pinkerton’s.

Do not trust anybody.
But I had to trust someone.

My first thought was Big Gussie. I was pretty sure I could trust her, but would the killer think to look for Martha there? I needed someone I could trust who was not too obvious.

I closed my eyes & fired a prayer like an arrow up to the Lord. I had barely whispered “Amen” before a name fell into my head.

It was a surprising name but upon reflection I reckoned it was my best bet.

I turned & went back to Doc Pinkerton’s & knocked on the door & when he opened it, I quickly explained the problem. He was not convinced that Martha was in danger, but I insisted. At last, he agreed to send her on to a safer place.

I told him how to recognize this person when he came to collect Martha, and I shared my simple plan.

“All right,” said Doc Pinkerton at last. “Mrs. Pinkerton is giving Martha a sponge bath so at least she will be clean. And if you give me the address of your Safe Haven I will check on her tomorrow morning.”

(You may think I am being Mysterious in my description of these events, but I do not want to confide Martha’s
whereabouts even to these pages, lest the Killer get hold of them.)

All I can say is this: I ran as fast as I could to the place where I hoped to find my ally & sure enough he was there. As I expected, he agreed to help. I even followed him back to Doc Pinkerton’s & watched from the shadows as he took delivery of a “pile of dirty laundry” & wheeled it away in a wheelbarrow. Only when I was sure that nobody was shadowing
him
did I make my way back to my office.