“I’ve been in bigger jails,” Jordan commented dryly as Ben Thompson held the cell door open for him.
“I’ll bet you have,” Ben replied, slamming the door and bolting it as soon as Jordan was inside. Holding a lantern, he watched Jordan through the small opening in the heavy plank door as his prisoner took inventory of his cell. One of only two, the room was barely eight feet by ten feet, with a small window opposite the door. A heavy odor of pine from the still-green lumber filled the space. Jordan went directly to the window to stare out at the dark alley behind the building.
Watching him intently, Ben found it hard to believe that he actually had Jordan Gray in his jail. Jordan Gray, the midnight panther, whose very name had brought terror to the miners around Deadwood a year ago. His thoughts were momentarily interrupted when Whitey spoke. “If you don’t think you need us no more, me and Andy are goin’ home.”
“Yeah,” Ben replied. “You and Andy go on. I don’t think Mr. Gray, here, is gonna go anywhere.” He turned away from the cell door to watch his deputies depart. “Much obliged. You boys done a good job. I’m goin’ myself in a few minutes, soon as Pete gets here.”
When they had gone, Ben turned his attention back to his prisoner. Picking up Jordan’s rifle, he looked it over carefully. “Seventy-three model Winchester,” he said. “Is this the same rifle you killed them prospectors up above Hard Luck Creek with?”
Jordan continued to stare out into the darkness, not bothering to turn around. “I told you,” he insisted, “I didn’t kill any prospectors—on Hard Luck Creek or anywhere else.”
“You didn’t, huh? Well you damn sure killed Barney Lipscomb, and Bob Wooten, and Tom Bowers. I was with ’em when you done it.” His ire rising at the thought, he cocked Jordan’s rifle several times for emphasis, pumping the live rounds out on the floor.
Still calm, Jordan turned then to face the door. “Those men died because you came after me with blood in your eye. You didn’t take time for talk then, just started shootin’. You didn’t leave me much choice, did you?”
Flustered for a moment, Ben calmed down when he reminded himself. “Well, I reckon we took time to talk this time, didn’t we? We’re gonna have a trial for the citizens of Deadwood to see we take law and order serious around here. Then we’re gonna swing your murderin’ ass from a pole right in the middle of town.”
Jordan didn’t reply, but he thought about the prospect of ending his life at the end of a rope, and he didn’t particularly care for the idea. More likely, he thought, you’ll end up shooting me. He was not inclined to go peacefully to the gallows.
Jordan heard the front door open when Pete Blankenship entered the jail. Listening to the conversation that passed between them, he learned that Pete slept on the cot Jordan had seen in the office. Ben filled Pete in on the arrest, and advised him to practice extreme caution when dealing with the prisoner. Before leaving for the night, Ben came back to the cell door.
“I wouldn’t want you to get lonesome during the night, so Pete here will be right outside this door. I wouldn’t advise you to cause him any trouble. Pete’s got a short fuse when people aggravate him. If you behave yourself, I might let Maggie and Hattie send you some breakfast in the mornin’.” He waited a moment in case there was a reply. When there was none, he chuckled to himself and told Pete good night.
As soon as Ben left, Pete came to the door. A large man, he had to stoop over to see through the small opening. “You heard what Ben said about behavin’ yourself, I reckon. Just so’s we have an understandin’. If I hear a peep outta you, I’m liable to come in there and break your back for you.” Like Ben before him, he waited to see if there was any response from the prisoner. There was none. Jordan never bothered to waste words.
Jordan lay down on the cot in his cell and tried to sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come. His brain was too busy thinking through all that had happened, and trying to come up with an escape plan that had some chance of success. There aren’t many options, he thought, and that’s a fact. In less than an hour’s time, the deep drone of Pete’s snoring rattled through the tiny jail. Jordan closed his eyes and did his best to ignore the sound. Although he thought sleep impossible, he nevertheless drifted off sometime after midnight.
At first, he thought he was dreaming. “Jordan.” A voice softly whispered his name. He opened his eyes and stared into the darkness. “Jordan.” This time he realized that he was not dreaming. He quickly got up from the cot and went to the window. He was not prepared for what he saw. On the other side of the window, he saw Hattie Moon’s face. At first, he thought the bars threw shadows across her features. Then, as the sleep left his eyes, he realized they were not shadows. She had painted dark streaks vertically on her face. “Hattie,” he blurted out. “What tha hell—?” He never finished because it occurred to him then that Hattie would have to be ten feet tall to look through the window.
“Here,” she whispered, and passed a heavy rope through the bars. “Tie this good and tight around the bars.” She looked down then. “Hand me the other one, Maggie.”
Jordan couldn’t believe it. “Is Maggie out there?”
Hattie giggled. “I’m standing on her. Here, tie this one on one of the other bars. We’re breakin’ you outta here.”
“Hurry up,” Maggie whispered impatiently. “You ain’t exactly no feather.”
“Are you two crazy?” Jordan demanded. “Anybody see you and you’ll be in here with me.” He took the two ropes, paused a moment to make sure Pete was still snoring, then tied them securely to the bars. As he worked feverishly with the knots, he glanced back at Hattie’s grinning face. “What are those streaks on your face?”
Hattie’s expression turned to one of surprise, disappointed that he had to ask. “War paint,” she crowed. “Me and Maggie dressed up like Injuns, in case somebody saw us.”
“Dammit.” Maggie’s voice came up from beneath the window. “Hurry up with them knots. I can’t hold you much longer.”
In the next instant, Hattie began to waver back and forth. Then suddenly, she dropped out of sight, and Jordan could hear the sounds of hushed giggling from the ground behind the jail. “Are you all right?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.
“Yeah, we’re all right,” came back to him. He couldn’t tell if it was Hattie or Maggie who answered. “Did you get those ropes tied?” When he replied that he had, Maggie called out quietly, “All right, Polly, let ’em go.”
The ropes went taut as Maggie’s team of mules braced against the load. Jordan stepped back from the window. There was no sign of anything giving for a few seconds. He could plainly hear the women ordering the mules to pull, and he marveled that Pete could sleep through the noise. The only indication that the window was under stress was a steady creaking of the green pine lumber. Outside, Maggie exhorted her mules to work harder. The window resisted for a full five minutes before surrendering to Maggie’s determined team. Suddenly, there was a loud crack like that of a bullwhip, followed by the helpless protests of cracking wood. Amid a clamor of snapping, creaking pine, and the reluctant shriek of nails pulled from the planks, the window frame was finally torn free. It was a racket Jordan was certain could be heard halfway up the street. It was certainly enough to arouse Pete Blankenship from his slumber.
Jordan could hear Pete’s confused mumbling on the other side of his cell door, and knew there would be brief seconds before the big deputy came to investigate. He went quickly to the gaping hole where the window had been, and urged the women to flee. “I’ll catch up,” he promised.
“By the crick, back of the house,” Maggie whispered hurriedly as the three jail breakers disappeared in the shadows of the alley.
Jordan moved back to flatten himself against the wall beside the door just as Pete lifted the heavy bar that secured it. Even in his confusion, Pete was cautious. He opened the cell door wide, and paused to take a look before rushing in. His eye immediately settled upon the open hole where a window should have been, and he charged into the cell. Jordan stuck his foot out and tripped him, sending the charging brute sprawling headlong onto the plank floor. The rifle he held went sliding across the planks. Jordan was quick to retrieve it. Pete scrambled to get up, but Jordan had the rifle trained on him by the time he was on his feet.
“All right, Pete, you do like I tell you, and you won’t get a bullet in your gut.”
The huge bully growled in reply, “You won’t git away with this, you son of a bitch. Who helped you tear out that window?”
“I don’t need any help breakin’ outta this chicken coop,” Jordan replied with a thin smile. “Now, I’d love to stand around here and discuss it, but I’ve got to be on my way.” He motioned toward the door with the rifle. “Now move. I want you in that other cell.”
Pete was not a man to be easily cowed. “To hell with you,” he snapped defiantly. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” He stood his ground.
“Have it your way,” Jordan replied indifferently. “It’s easier for me this way.” He raised the rifle, taking dead aim at Pete’s head.
“All right, dammit!” Pete blurted out, his bluff called. “I’m goin’.” It wasn’t worth the gamble. Jordan Gray had killed before, and Pete knew it. He turned and walked out the door into the office, then went obediently to the other cell.
Jordan followed cautiously, the rifle held ready. He was not willing to believe Pete was completely subdued. The man was an obvious bully, and was bound to make an attempt before meekly submitting. Just as Jordan had anticipated, Pete was not ready to admit defeat. As he started to pass through the doorway to the cell, he made his move. Suddenly whirling around, he aimed a huge fist at Jordan’s head, but the big man was not quick enough. Jordan easily avoided the wild haymaker, and rewarded Pete with a solid thump of the rifle barrel against the side of his head. Stunned, but still on his feet, Pete wobbled drunkenly as Jordan shoved him into the cell and closed the door. While he inserted the timber that served as a bar for the door, he reminded Pete, “I could just as easily have killed you if I was the murderer you people think I am. Remember that.”
Taking but a moment to check the street in front of the jail to make sure all was still quiet, he then went about retrieving his possessions. His rifle and pistol were in a corner of the tiny office, the Winchester propped against the wall, the Colt lying on the floor. After loading the weapons, he glanced quickly around to make sure he hadn’t forgotten any other article that might have belonged to him. His gaze lit upon a box of .45 cartridges. “Might as well help myself to some ammunition,” he murmured. “Little enough pay for the inconvenience.”
Before leaving, he took another look at the gaping hole in the back wall, and couldn’t help but grin. A helluva job, he thought. But I don’t reckon I’ll take a chance on spraining an ankle by jumping out the window. He turned and walked out the front door.
There was no clock in the jail, so he could only guess the time. Judging by the hint of gray in the eastern sky, he figured it could be no more than an hour before daybreak. Turning to pull the front door shut, he was startled by a voice behind him.
“Looks like it might be a warm one.”
He turned to find a man walking along the rutted street, apparently heading toward the stables at the far end. Realizing that he was under no threat, Jordan returned the greeting. “Looks like,” he said, wondering even as he said it what possible sign the man could have seen that would tell him it was going to be a warm day. At that moment, Pete chose to yell, “Hey! Let me outta here!” He had apparently heard talking outside the jail.
The stranger paused and looked at Jordan. Jordan grinned, and explained, “Drunk—he’ll need more time to sleep it off.”
“I reckon,” the stranger replied and laughed. He continued on toward the stables. Jordan watched until he was sure the man showed no signs of suspicion; then he hurried to meet the women by the creek.
“Where the hell have you been?” Maggie wanted to know when Jordan finally joined the three women waiting beside the creek. She had apparently expected him to jump out the window immediately.
“I had to take care of a few things,” he explained. “And make sure Pete didn’t follow us.” Seeing an instant look of concern on their faces, he assured them, “He ain’t hurt. I just locked him in the other cell.” He then paused to take a look at his rescuers. “Where in the world did you get those clothes?”
Hattie grinned. “They belonged to Ned. He wasn’t a whole lot bigger’n Maggie and me.” The last she added to explain the fit.
Looking more like clowns from a circus than Sioux Indians, the two partners of The Trough stood draped in some of Ned Booth’s old buckskins. Jordan shook his head and laughed. In spite of the danger in which they had placed themselves, the whole incident was laughable. He feared, however, that they were blind to the seriousness of their actions. “When Ben Thompson finds his deputy locked up, this is the first place he’s gonna come,” Jordan said, no longer laughing.
“Probably so,” Maggie allowed. “But we’ll just say we didn’t have nothing to do with it. He can suspicion all he wants. There ain’t no way he can prove nothing.” She looked at Hattie for support.
“That’s a fact,” Polly replied for her aunt. “We were here the whole time.” She couldn’t help fretting about the trouble she had already caused Jordan. “You’d better get goin’ before it gets daylight.”
He hesitated, still concerned for their welfare, until Hattie reassured him. “Don’t worry about us, Jordan. It’s our word against Ben’s, and the men in this town ain’t about to let anything shut our kitchen down. Half of ’em would starve to death if they had to do their own cookin’.”
“I guess you’re right,” Jordan said. He stepped up in the saddle, and turned Sweet Pea’s head toward the west. He held the homely mare in check while he took one last look at the three women. “Much obliged for springin’ me. You girls take care of yourselves,” he said in parting, then gave Sweet Pea her head.
“There’s bacon and coffee in your saddle bags,” Maggie called after him, just remembering. Then she said to Hattie, “We’d better get busy cookin’ breakfast, or we’re gonna have a lot of explainin’ to do come sunup.”
Just as the women expected, Ben Thompson stormed into the dining hall before they turned the sign around from NOPE to YEP. “Why, good mornin’, Ben,” Maggie said, greeting him cheerfully. “You must be powerful hungry this mornin’, but we ain’t quite open yet—unless you come to fetch breakfast for your prisoner. If you’ll just set down a minute. . . .”
“You know damn well I didn’t come for no damn breakfast,” he interrupted. “Where is he?”
“Who?” Maggie asked innocently.
“Jordan Gray! I know he came here. His horse is gone, so quit playin’ games with me.”
“It is?” Maggie went to the back door and looked out at the corral. “Well, I’ll be damned,” she exclaimed. “It is gone.” Hattie walked in from the kitchen at that moment. Maggie turned to her and said, “Jordan’s horse is gone.”
“Gone?” Hattie responded, and made a show of going to the door to see for herself. “How’d it get out?”
Ben was beside himself with anger, and it was getting worse by the second. When Polly walked in behind Hattie, and her aunt started to give her the startling news, Ben exploded. “Gawdammit, that’s enough! You women ain’t foolin’ nobody. I’ve a mind to throw the lot of you in jail.” He was about to threaten more when Pete Blankenship came in the door.
“I think we picked up his trail,” Pete reported. “Jack found fresh tracks down by the crick. Looks like he crossed over and headed west, up over the ridge.”
“All right,” Ben replied. “Let’s get in the saddle.” Turning back to the women, he said, “This time, when we catch him, we ain’t gonna bother with no trial.” He glared at them for a moment before promising, “I ain’t through with you ladies over this yet.”
“Oh, get the hell outta here, Ben,” Maggie snapped. “We’ve got a breakfast to get on the table.” She stood, hands on hips, glaring after him until he was out the door. Then turning to Hattie, she confided, “I hope Jordan ain’t wastin’ no time, not with Jack Little Hawk trackin’ for ’em.” Her tone concerned Polly, and she asked who Jack Little Hawk was. Hattie explained that he was a full-blooded Arapaho who could track a water spider across a pond.