Tell No Tales by Don Money

“I warned him about travelin’ alone and unarmed and he told me ‘The Bible is my protection. It has never failed me yet.’” Owen Casey said to Sheriff Seth Bullock. The Deadwood sheriff had asked the blacksmith to tell him about the last time he saw Reverend Smith. “He stopped by my shop and told me he was going to Crook City to preach and expected to be back later in the day.”

“And he set out after that?” Sheriff Bullock asked. The body of Reverend Henry Weston Smith had been discovered on the road three miles outside of Deadwood by a passerby two hours before, and the sheriff had been notified to investigate the death.

“That’s right.” Casey laid down the hammer on the anvil where he had been working on a horseshoe. “I said to him I was worried about his safety, but he told me he weren’t worried about the Indians, and he was a man of God and trusted in the Shepherd’s protection—I told him it’s because he is a preacher that I was worried.”

Bullock looked at the blacksmith curious about the comment. “What did you exactly mean by that?”

“I don’t wanna to go causin’ trouble and gettin’ ’em after me,” Owen said, giving a nervous look up and down the dusty street. “But the reverend was a friend to me. There are some folks here ’bout not happy with all the talking he did about them dens of inequity around Deadwood.”

Sheriff Bullock rubbed his hand across the stubble of his weathered face. “Heard talk similar to that too. Al Swearengen weren’t too keen on how Reverend Smith tried to get the Gem Theatre closed down. That’s somethin’ the preacher and I agree wholeheartedly on—that brothel has been the ruin of many good men and too many innocent women.”

“Al even swears that Smith was behind an attempt to burn the building to the ground,” Owen said. “Place ain’t nothin’ but an American Gomorrah. Wish it’d meet the same fate.”

The sheriff walked back, unhitched his black mare from the railing, and swung himself up onto the saddle. “Swearengen is already running his mouth around town that Indians got Reverend Smith.”

“You don’t believe it?”

“Naw, too convenient and don’t match anything about previous attacks.”

“Robbers?”

“Reasonable assumption, but nothing was taken from the preacher’s body. Had some gold coins and a watch left on his body. Just a single shot that took him straight through the heart. Don’t sound much like an Indian or a road agent.”

The blacksmith shook his head. “Sounds more like an assassination, not revenge or thievin’.”

“I got some questions, and I know a feller who always has his ears open and might give me an answer with the right persuasion.” Sheriff Bullock nudged his horse and headed out of Deadwood toward Whitewood Creek.

“Dammit, Bullock, enough.” Turner Griggs looked up from the floor of his cabin where the punch had sent him reeling to the floor. “That’s all I know. I overheard Swearengen talkin’ to Delpherd Vaniel about some money he’d pay him to shut up that Bible thumper.”

“When was this?” the sheriff rubbed the knuckles of his right hand.

“Last night, out behind the Gem. Al told him to do it today and then see him in his offi ce tonight after dark to collect,” Turner replied, not wanting another chance to be at the receiving end of Bullock’s famous temper.

“Where’s Delpherd likely to be found in the evenings?” Sheriff Bullock asked, already planning his next stop to figure out what had happened to Reverend Smith.

“He’s got a place he stays in Chinese Alley. I suspect he’s laying low there until he collects his payout tonight. After that, he’ll be in the wind.”

Bullock reached out and pulled Griggs up from the floor. “Shoulda told me about this last night, Turner. If you’d done that, then a good man might still be alive.”

Through the front window of the Bella Union Saloon, Sheriff Bullock watched the passageway that led out of Chinese Alley. It was not the first time the lawman had staked out the location waiting for an outlaw to emerge from the dens of evil that dotted that part of Deadwood.

Twilight was creeping upon the town when Bullock spied Delpherd Vaniel slinking out of the alley heading in the direction of the Gem Theatre. In a few quick steps, the sheriff was through the swinging doors and on a course to intercept his suspect in the murder of Reverend Smith.

Ten steps from away, Bullock watched as the nervous Delpherd looked up and made eye contact with the lawman. Both men in realization of what was about to happen came to a dead stop.

Sheriff Bullock smoothly drew his Remington 1875, aiming at his quarry. “Don’t you rabbit, Mister Vaniel. I have some questions for you.”

Whether out of a general fear of the law or knowledge that Bullock was likely there to arrest him, Delpherd turned and bolted back into Chinese Alley. Not willing to shoot the man in the back, the sheriff took up the pursuit.

Entering the alley of closely placed ramshackle buildings, a shot tore into a wall next to Sheriff Bullock’s head, sending him into a less than graceful headlong tumble for cover behind a row of wooden barrels. The few people on the street scrambled for the indoors as two more rounds splintered the wood of the lawman’s refuge.

“Delpherd! It don’t have to be this way.” Bullock peeked around the edge of a barrel and saw the pistol and arm extending out from behind a building where Vaniel hid. “You and I can talk about this. I know you were put up to what you did.”

Another round hit the barrel and Bullock scooted back. “I ain’t ending up at the end of a rope for something you think I did.”

“Don’t have to be the noose, you confess to the killing and testify against who paid you to do it, and you can go to the territorial prison. Ain’t a great place, but at least you’d be living.”

“Killing? I ain’t killed nobody. You’s just setting me up.”

“Why did you run when you saw me?”

“I thought you were after me for roughing that girl up.”

A single shot echoed amongst the buildings. Bullock flinched but no shot came his way. “Delpherd?” No response came in return. “Delpherd, just throw down your gun and we can talk this out.”

Again, there was no response. Sheriff Bullock, with his revolver leading the way, emerged from behind the barrels. Keeping his aim at where his ambusher had fired from, the lawman moved cautiously along the street. Stepping quickly around the corner, his gun drew a bead on the body lying dead on the ground. A bullet hole was visible in the back of Delpherd Vaniel’s head. Blood trickled down, and in the fading light, Bullock watched it drip into a pool in the dirt.

“Dammit.” Bullock swung his pistol around looking for who had killed the man, who moments before, had been trying his best to kill the sheriff. No one presented themselves, and it confirmed the dark suspicion that settled on his mind. Vaniel hadn’t been killed to save the lawman, but to shut up the man who knew too much.

“Well, Sheriff Bullock, what brings Deadwood’s esteemed lawman into the Gem Theatre? Change your mind about the vileness of this place and come for some comfort?” Al Swearengen’s crooked smile punctuated the arrogance with which the notorious businessman spoke.

“Comfort for who? Certainly not the poor women you force to work here. No sir, there is nothing I need from a whoremonger like you other than a confession.” Bullock’s temper was on the rise.

“Confession. Why, whatever would I have to confess to? Bringing employment opportunities to destitute young women?”

Bullock pushed back the urge to draw his revolver and club this scum of a man over the head. “What I speak of is the conspiracy to kill Reverend Smith, and likely, just minutes ago did the same to Delpherd Vaniel to keep him from talking.”

“Sheriff, those are some serious allegations,” Swearengen spoke loudly to draw the attention of the saloon’s patrons to the conversation. “Just because you are unable, or unwilling, to track down the Indians who killed the good reverend doesn’t mean you should try and lay that crime at my feet.”

“Not even going to say you don’t know Vaniel or act surprised he was killed?” Bullock replied.

“I know Vaniel by name only, never met him. My girls would be closer associated with the man. As far as his death, I know just what a customer came in and told me. He was being pursued by you into Chinese Alley when some good citizen took it upon himself to assist in rectifying the situation of a man trying to kill you.”

“Funny that they didn’t stick around.”

“Not everybody in Deadwood feels the need to be thanked for their good deeds. Take me for instance. I just volunteered to pay for that Bible thumper’s burial, and I’m not bragging about it.”

“Bible thumper? That’s not the first time today I’ve heard the Reverend called that.” An idea began to form in Sheriff Bullock’s mind. “You know Turner Griggs?”

“Nope. Now if you will excuse me, Sheriff Bullock, I do have a business to run.” With that, Swearengen took a shot of whiskey and exited through a door in the back of the room.”

As Bullock approached the door to leave, a small hand grabbed at his arm. Turning around, one of the theatre’s dancing girls stood staring up at him, her right eye marked with a fading purple bruise.

“I heard you say my brother’s name when you was talking to Mister Swearengen,” the girl said.

“Delpherd Vaniel is your brother?”

“No, my brother is Turner,” she replied. “I’m Nexie Griggs. But I do know Delpherd. He’s the one that done this to me.” Nexie tipped her head so the sheriff got a better view of her black eye.

“What does your brother think of that?”

“Look, sheriff, I don’t wanna get my brother into any trouble, but he’s gone and done something to get into business with Mister Swearengen. I’m worried, Swearengen is not a good man.”

“I just want to help your brother if he’s done something wrong. But, I can’t help him if I don’t know what to help him from.” Bullock lowered his voice as he spoke.

Nexie looked around to see if they were being observed. “I don’t rightly know myself. When Turner came in here hopping mad about what happened to me, Swearengen told him he had a proposal that could help him settle the score with Delpherd and help the Gem also. Told Turner he could make a good bit of money also in the deal. Said to him, ‘enough to pay to get your sister out of working here and then some.’”

“Thank you, Miss Nexie. I’ll see what I can do for Turner.”

Sheriff Bullock headed home for the night to chew on all that he learned from his visit to the Gem.

The next morning the sheriff returned to Whitewood Creek. As he rode up and climbed down, Turner Griggs emerged from around behind the cabin.

“Morning, Sheriff, I heard tell you killed Delpherd

Vaniel. Serves him right for killin’ that Bible thumper… I mean Reverend Smith.”

“I wasn’t the one who murdered Vaniel.”

“Murdered? He killed a man, he weren’t murdered, he got his reckoning. Good riddance I’d say,” Turner replied.

“Oh, he was murdered all right. Shot in the back of the head. But you already knew that.” The lawman watched for a reaction from the other man. A twitch played across Turner’s face. “Turner, I’ve not seen you runnin’ around heeled before.” Bullock tipped his head toward the Navy Colt in the holster the man wore.

“I… I… I’m not sure what you are suggesting, Sheriff.” A line of sweat rolled down Turner’s face. “I think you need to just go on and get off of my property.”

“I get it. I saw what that man did to your sister. You wanted to get back at him.” Bullock prodded for answers. “You should have come to me. I could have handled Vaniel the law way.”

“You just saw her face,” Turner yelled. “Rest of her body was covered with bruises and more. He had no right to hurt her like that. She already suffers enough for what she has to do at that place to make a livin’.”

The sheriff saw an opening to try and help Turner—like he told his sister he would. “I know that Al Swearengen put you up to this, son. You testify what he had you do and I’ll see to it that you don’t swing. You’ll spend your time in prison, but you could get out at some point. Nexie doesn’t want to see you dead.”

“I’d hoped that by makin’ up that story I told you somehow Delpherd and Swearengen would both end up dead.” Turner’s hands began to shake.

“Al in jail may not be as good to you as dead, but he’d be punished for putting you up to killing Reverend Smith.”

Turner Griggs dropped his right hand next to his holster. “Can’t do that, Sheriff Bullock. If you take me and Swearengen in, he’ll have his cronies hurt my sister to keep me quiet. I can’t risk that.”

“I’ve never had to kill a man. I don’t want to start with you. Drop your gun belt, let me take you in, and I’ll arrest Al Swearengen. I can get Nexie to a safe place. We can get her away from here. With you in jail, you won’t need this place. We can sell it and move Nexie to where she can’t be hurt by Swearengen or any of his people.”

“Swear to me that you will get her out of that vile man’s clutches. Do that and I’ll talk—”

A rifle shot cracked, splitting the air between them, striking Griggs in the chest. Bullock hunkered low to the ground pulling his revolver and searching for where the shot came from. From the woods to the side of the cabin, the sound of hoofbeats riding away sent the lawman scrambling to his feet and running to where Turner lay.

Kneeling down, Bullock lifted Turner’s torso up. “Give me your testimony against Swearengen. Your dying confession will hold up in court. Your sister will be safe.”

Turner Griggs coughed and some bloody spittle shot from his lips. “Remember you swore to get her out of Deadwood.”

“I will. Now talk.”

“I still can’t. I killed a man of God, I know where I’m a headin’ in the next life. And sooner or later, Al Swearengen is going to show up there too. Even in Hell, he’s sure to make my life worse there to punish me if I talk. But Nexie can have a life now. You see to it that she gets away from this place.” With that, Turner Griggs’ eyes closed and he crossed to his judgement.

Sheriff Bullock spoke through the window of the stagecoach, “Nexie, use the money you got now to start a new life for yourself back east. It’s what your brother asked of you. Get out of this place and make a new life for yourself.”

Nexie nodded and waved to the lawman as the stage departed. Bullock turned and stared at Al Swearengen who stood on the walkway in front of the Gem Theatre. “There’s at least three lives I know you owe for. The law will see it through. I will see it through.”

The familiar slick smile of Swearengen was pasted to his face. “I am sure I don’t even know what you are referring to. Course all of that hinges on you being a lawman anyway.”

Seth Bullock shook his head in disgust and walked back toward his office.

“Carter,” Swearengen called to one of his men. “Get a message to John Manning. Tell him I have an opportunity he will be interested in.”

Don Money was born and raised in rural Arkansas. He spent the majority of his youth exploring the woods around their family farm or with his face buried in a Western novel. After graduating high school he joined the United States Air Force and traveled the globe as a Nuclear, Biological, Chemical Weapons Defense Specialist. After ten years in the service, Don returned to his roots in Arkansas and now teaches Language Arts to sixth graders. He holds Masters and Bachelors degrees in Education from Arkansas State University. Don is an active member of the White County Creative Writers group and enjoys writing fiction across multiple genres. He has sixty short stories published in a variety of anthologies and magazines. Don resides in Beebe, Arkansas with his wife, Sarah, where they are the proud parents of five children.