Shadow of Legends (14 page)

He put himself between the darkness of the store and the lantern, then struck the sulfur match on the rough cedar wall. He lit the lantern, turned down the wick, and stepped toward the shadows.

Well, I haven't been shot at yet . . . that's a good sign.

CHAPTER FIVE

The first sound of gunfire from Main Street brought Rebekah Fortune to the window. At the second and third shots, she scurried out to the porch. In the gulch, below the safety of Forest Hill, she could hear horse hooves thunder. Fern was in her arms. Quintin trotted out and clutched her skirt. The June evening air was still mild, but a shock of chill slid down her back. Her hands trembled as she rocked the baby back and forth.

Fern whimpered.

“It's all right, Darlin' . . . it's all right . . .” The words rolled off her lips like a chant by a scared kid walking through the cemetery.

It was not the first dark Dakota night when gunshots had been heard in Deadwood. If the ground-shaking rumble of stamp mills in Lead were the bass section of the Black Hills orchestra, gunshots in Deadwood were the trumpet section, often carrying the tune.

Rebekah had heard shouting, screams, and curses before.

That was the frontier.

Gold towns.

Sudden wealth.

Impetuous passion.

Unanticipated anger.

And instant violence.

“Fire works?” Quintin asked. His chubby hands patted his ears.

Rebekah stroked the fine, wild hair that darted in all directions from the top of his head. “Well, Darlin', I don't think anyone's celebrating the Fourth of July . . . in June. There are no fireworks tonight.”

Looking down Wall Street, she could see men running southwest along the shadows of Main Street.

Men in boots don't run anywhere, unless it's a disaster. They aren't going toward the badlands. It's at the store. Oh, Lord, watch over them!

A cold sweat beaded Rebekah's forehead as she paced the porch and fixed her gaze toward Main Street. Quintin staggered to keep up.

“Moon!” Fern shouted and waved her arm to the east.

Suddenly, Rebekah felt like all the attention in the universe was focused on the hardware store . . . and she couldn't see what was going on.

I can't take this, Lord. This is not for me. I don't operate like this. I like the quiet. Peaceful, sunny days. Harmonious voices. Where people respect each other, and hatred is restrained to the heart.

Oh, Lord . . . protect Todd . . . and Dacee June.

There's no more shooting.

Is everyone dead?

I didn't hear a shotgun, did I?

Then Todd didn't get a chance to shoot.

She began to gasp, fighting to control her breathing . . . and her tears. The girl in her arms began to cry.

“It's okay, darlin' . . . it's alright . . . he's safe . . . no one got hurt . . . someone was just hurrahing town.” She tried to take a deep breath and hold it. It didn't work. “Oh, God . . . oh God . . .” she sobbed, and returned to the house.

I'm so scared, Lord. I've got to go down there . . . children and all. I can't wait! . . . I have to wait. This is not good.

Rebekah marched right into the kitchen and sat Fern on the floor next to Quintin. She washed her face, then led the children into her bedroom. “It's time to go to sleep, punkins . . . come on . . . I'll get you ready, and you can sleep in our bed.”

She changed both children into flannel nightshirts. She felt so removed from what was taking place in the room, it was as if she was watching herself take care of the children. Fern lay still but watched Rebekah's every move with big round brown eyes. Quintin didn't bed down that easy.

“No, I want my bed!”

“You aren't going home tonight, darlin'. You're going to stay at our house.”

“Dacee-une!” he protested.

“I know you miss your Dacee-une . . . she'll be back in a minute.” Rebekah's heart pounded so severely she could only speak a word or two before running out of breath. “Now you . . . stay under the covers . . . with Fern.”

“No, I want up!” Quintin pushed the covers back, and squirmed out of the tall bed.

“No you don't, Young Man. Back to bed. You are going to mind me, and you are going to mind me right now,” she snapped.

She shoved his shoulders back, but he giggled and ducked under her hands.
Relax, Rebekah. Don't take it out on the children. Oh, Lord, I'm losing control. I've never lost control in my life. You promised to send Your Comforter . . . well, I need Him . . . and I need Him right now!

Quintin squirmed under the clutch of her hand on his shoulder. “I want my own bed.”

“We've gone through all that before.” She scooped him up and wanted to throw him back on the bed. Instead, she let out such a deep sigh the trembling in her hands ceased. She laid him gently down. Fern watched everything intently.

“Quint, I know this isn't what you were expecting, but I'm just a little scared right now. So I need you to help me, alright? What do you do when you get scared?”

His voice was very soft. “Mommy reads to me.”

Rebekah brushed his bangs off his forehead. “OK . . . I'll try. You go in the parlor and find a book.”

Quintin slid down out of the thick-mattressed bed and scampered out of sight.

Fern reached out her stubby little arms. “Hug me!”

“You're right about that, young lady; we all need a hug.”

Rebekah crawled on top of the covers, lay down on her back, and hugged Fern with her right arm. Soon, she had a child on both arms. Quintin held the book, but after about three pages both nodded off. The kerosene lantern flickered shadows across the hammered copper ceiling.

Why hasn't someone returned to tell me what's going on? Maybe it wasn't at the hardware, but next door. What if they don't know anything about this and are merely sweeping up the store? What if all this worry is for nothing?

What if they're all dead?

Lord, Your will be done. There are so many things in this life that I have absolutely no control over. I can't let them terrify me and imprison me up here in this house anymore. I'll do what I can and leave the rest to You. I can hug children and read them stories. I know that much.

She heard a dog bark on Williams Street. She strained to hear footsteps that never sounded.

Lord, we can't stay in Deadwood. I'm not going through this again. There are some women who grow stronger during trials and hardships. But I'm not a pioneer woman. I did not choose to come out here. I came with father. Lord, remember how I cried when we left Chicago?

I know I'm weak. Maybe I shouldn't have married a westerner. It's not fair to Todd. He needs a stronger woman. But oh how I love that man.

There has to be a place somewhere that fits both Todd and me. But I don't know if I could handle Rapid City . . . or Cheyenne . . . or any other place any better.

How can I plan the future when I don't know what's happening down there? I wish I was strong. I wish I could grab a pistol, hike down the hill with a child at each hand, and go to the aid of my husband.

“What did you do when you heard the shots, dear?”

“Oh, I hid in the bed behind some friends' children.”

Rebekah's chin started to quiver.

“Get behind me, Satan! I have the peace of Jesus!” She hugged both children and was surprised that neither woke up at her outburst.

What if these were my children? What if I was left a young widow with children? That would be so tragic.

The silence of the house stabbed at her mind.

There are worse things, Rebekah Fortune. What if I'm left a widow with no children at all?

Cold tears slid down her cheeks.

I don't have any children, Lord. We've been married almost four years and I don't have any children! I can't believe I put myself in this position. You are a selfish, presumptuous prig, Rebekah Jacobson Fortune! What if something happened to Todd? What if you never have his child? That would drive me insane. If we are going to live here, I am not going to live this way.

Lord, give me a chance to make it right. Bring him back.

Quick! . . . before I die of worry.

The footsteps on the porch caused her to sit straight up between the two sleeping children.

It's not Todd. It's Dacee June.

Her hands shivered. “Thy will be done . . .” she mumbled as she scooted to the end of the bed. She was so careful to not wake up the children that she hardly noticed when the trembling ceased.

At the first gunshot, Todd dove behind the barrel of strap hinges. There was a woman's shout and two more shots as he rose to his knees and aimed the shotgun toward the darkened street.

Horseback riders galloped toward Shine Street.

Everything was quiet.

“Carty!” Todd yelled out the broken window.

“I'm here!”

“Are you shot?”

“No. Are you?” Carty yelled.

“No. What about Dacee June?”

“She looks OK. She's coming across the street now.”

“Who did the shooting?” Todd hollered.

“Two men on horseback.”

“Are they still there?”

“They rode off.”

Todd crept toward the door, turned out the lantern, then stepped outside carrying the shotgun in front of him. He could hear footsteps approach from the dirt street. “Lil' Sis?”

“I'm OK,” she called out in the darkness. “How's Carty?”

“I'm alright. Thanks for giving me that warnin' shot,” he replied.

“What warning?” Todd asked. Suddenly Dacee June appeared alongside him, carrying her pistol in her hand.

Todd looked down the street in the shadows toward the sound of footsteps running their way from the badlands.

“You need any help, Fortune?” A man called out from the front steps of the hotel, diagonally across the street.

“It's alright, now,” Todd called out. “Just a couple boys hurrahin' up the place. Wish they'd stay down in the badlands.”

“Ain't that the truth.”

Several men gathered on the hotel porch, but none crossed the street.

“You want us to go look for the sheriff?”

“He's busy, boys . . . I'll take care of it,” Todd shouted. Then he turned back to Dacee June and Carty Toluca. “What happened out in the street?”

“Two men rode out of the alley by the Merchant's Hotel,” Dacee June explained. “They stopped in the middle of the street and stared into the store for a minute, as if looking for a particular person. Then, all of a sudden, they took aim at you or Carty, I couldn't tell which. So I aimed over their heads and fired a warning shot.”

“One of 'em fired into the store. I guess they was shootin' at you . . . or me.” Carty looped his thumbs in his suspenders. “When I heard Dacee June's shot, I dove for cover and fired at them myself.”

“You hid under a bench and shot into the dirt right in front of you,” Dacee June scoffed.

“I was just admonishin' them. I didn't want to kill nobody.”

“Admonish?” Dacee June chided. “You're lucky you didn't shoot yourself in the foot.”

“But it was my shot that chased ‘em off,” he asserted.

Todd lit a sulfur match and studied their youthful faces.

“I'm a little dirty,” Carty admitted. “That's all.”

“I should have shot them dead,” Dacee June griped. Her lower lip puckered to a pout.

“You did the right thing,” Todd assured. “I can't believe anyone was looking for a serious gunfight if they ran off when a couple shots were fired. Could you tell who it was?”

“It was too dark,” Dacee June explained. “All I could see was shadows. One was taller than the other, but all I saw was their backs.”

The match went out, and Todd chewed on it like a toothpick. “How about you, Carty? Have you seen them before?”

“I didn't even know they had rode up until I heard Dacee June's gunfire.”

“You couldn't see them because you were hiding under a bench,” Dacee June said.

“It don't matter where I was, Dacee June Fortune,” Carty ­retorted. “It was too dark to recognize them, and you know it.”

“How about the horses?”

“They were dark,” Dacee June admitted, “but I couldn't tell if they were black or brown or bay.”

“Nothing seems to be missing from the store,” Todd explained. “I don't think it's a robbery. There was no one in the store. It's like someone smashed the window, kicked in the door, then just waited to take a shot at whoever showed up.”

“They seemed to hesitate about shooting. Maybe they were looking for someone who wasn't there. Who did they want?” Dacee June asked.

“If you threw a brick through Fortune's Hardware, who would you expect to show up to investigate?” Todd asked.

“Not me,” Carty shrugged. “I was just going down to . . .”

“Down to where?” Dacee June demanded.