Portlandtown: A Tale of the Oregon Wyldes (21 page)

The marshal blinked. This fellow knew some things. Fortunately, the marshal remembered.

“Yeah, I was there when they tried to hang him.”

Those gathered around the mayor’s group, who up to that point had been casually eavesdropping, gave up the ruse and seemed to lean in en masse as the marshal continued.

“Couldn’t quite kill the bastard, but they did make him famous.”

Ollie nodded. “This was in sixty-eight, yes?”

“Sounds about right.”

The marshal was surprised to find his memories of the botched hanging clearer than those of the Hanged Man’s eventual demise, especially considering they were nearly a decade older.

“I missed the actual hanging. Some townsfolk took matters into their own hands and decided to string him up before I could process him upstate. He weren’t nobody at the time, just another delinquent with courage enough to steal from folks that ain’t got much.” The marshal paused, letting his story sink in. The truth of the Hanged Man made the bastard seem less important somehow. The marshal didn’t know why but that made him feel better.

A question came from the crowd: “What did he steal?”

“Twenty-seven dollars and a horse wasn’t worth half that,” said the marshal, smiling just a little. “Don’t suppose it was his first crime, but definitely the first time he got caught. Put him in a foul mood.”

“Which he would never relinquish,” said Ollie.

The marshal’s expression darkened. “No, but there weren’t no sign of the man he would become, neither. I’d a known, would have strung him up myself.”

More questions came from the crowd, faster than the marshal could answer.

“Is it true he cut himself down from the hanging tree, even after he was dead?”

“Was he buried first?”

“Did he rise from the grave?”

“Did he always wear the noose?”

The scowl he’d worn for much of the previous week returned, but only until the marshal caught the eye of his grandson. Kick had silently drifted back to his mother’s side along with his sister and was now watching his grandfather, eyes wide and ears open. He was just starting to look like his father had the first time the marshal met the man who would ultimately marry his daughter. It was a hard to frown at a face like that.

“Weren’t nothing supernatural about it,” he said. “Fools that strung him up didn’t know a damn thing about tying a noose. Unraveled ten seconds after the drop. Surprised the hell out of ’em, which was just long enough for the man—who
weren’t
dead—to bolt into the bushes.”

“But then why did they call him the Hanged Man?”

“He called himself that,” said the marshal. “Had a bit of scar ’round his neck, which was enough for most folks.”

“And it was after this that he truly made a name for himself,” said Ollie.

“He started killin’ folks, if that’s what you mean.”

“It is. But I can’t say I ever learned the man’s Christian name.”

“He kept it a secret,” said the marshal. “Wouldn’t tell me when I arrested him that first time. Nobody in town knew it. After the hanging it didn’t matter.”

“But you learned his name eventually, of course,” said the mayor. “That’s how you cornered him in Astoria, yes?”

The marshal tried to remember. Did he know the Hanged Man’s name? Was he supposed to?
How could you forget?

As the silence stretched out, Joseph wondered if his decision to let the marshal find his way through the past alone was a mistake. He wasn’t the only one.

“Marshal, your silence speaks louder than words,” said Ollie.

“It does?” mumbled the mayor, echoing the sentiments of many in the crowd, the marshal included.

“Of course the marshal knows who he was, but by choosing not to say, he’s buried the man, name and all, making him all the less relevant. We shouldn’t remember the monster and his deeds, but rather his unfortunate victims.” Ollie bowed to the marshal. “A very noble sentiment, Marshal, and for that you have my respect.”

“And mine,” quickly added the mayor.

There were murmurs of agreement from the crowd.

“Well,” said the marshal, eyeing Joseph. “I suppose not all things are worth remembering, anyway.”

“Hear, hear!”

Joseph felt Kate’s hand take his own and squeeze lightly.

“Jim, I daresay my prediction as to who will be the star of the festival may be in doubt,” said Ollie. He put a hand on Edmonds’s shoulder and added, “No offense, young man, but a hero of the West is hard to beat.”

“I agree,” said Edmonds. “And you know I think I did read something about this Hanged Man fellow when I was younger. I remember a story about a very bloody shootout and something about a magic gun.”

“Magic gun?” said the doctor. “What nonsense is this?”

“Yes, yes, the Bloody Pistol,” said Ollie. “Whatever happened to that, Marshal?”

“I have it,” said the marshal, regretting the words even as he said them.

The mayor beamed. “You have it? In your possession?”

The marshal nodded. He didn’t bother to look at his daughter. He knew what he would see on her face and it would still be there waiting for him later.

“You must bring it to the festival,” said the mayor. “For a practical demonstration.”

“What was the myth?” asked Ollie. “That it could be fired without reloading?”

The marshal’s hand started to itch. “Something like that. Never tested it,” he lied.

“I didn’t know you kept his gun,” Joseph said, unable to save his question for later.

“Couldn’t leave it behind. Too dangerous. Some fool might pick it up and start calling himself the Hanged Man all over again.”

“You could have destroyed it.”

Joseph’s words made the marshal flinch. He could have destroyed it, could have dismantled the weapon and thrown the pieces into the Columbia River, but he hadn’t. He wouldn’t. It was his gun now. No one was going to take it away from him, no matter how hard and long he stared at the marshal with his one eye.

“I kept it safe.”

“What of the body?” Ollie asked.

The marshal answered right away: “Burned it.”

He was lying. Joseph heard it in the old man’s voice, although he didn’t understand. What the marshal believed was a lie was true as far as Joseph knew. Could that explain the marshal’s nocturnal diggings the week before? Had he been searching for the gun or for something else?

“Oh,” Ollie began, softening his tone ever so slightly. “I only ask because our journey north brought us through Astoria, where it seems there’s been a rash of grave disturbances over the past few weeks.”

Joseph felt Kate’s grip once again tighten, but sensed no change in the marshal’s demeanor. The mayor’s unfortunate question would put an end to that.

“Were any bodies stolen?”

“Just one,” said Edmonds.

The marshal stepped forward. “What did you say?”

“One body went missing, the day before we made port, I believe. Apparently, there was a second incident in a grave apart from the others.”

The marshal took another step toward the weatherman. “Whose name was on the stone?”

“I don’t know,” said Edmonds, shrinking back. “I didn’t ask.”

“There wasn’t a stone,” said Ollie. “No marker at all, just a hole and an empty box.”

“But I didn’t find—” the marshal began and then stopped.

“Gentlemen, please,” Kate said, pulling both children to her side. “Can we find a topic more suited to all ages?”

“Cry your pardon, Mrs. Wylde,” said Ollie.

Kate received similar apologies from the other men, but hardly noticed as she turned to face her father.

“Dad?”

“I’m fine,” he said, and strode into the garden without another word.

15

“Do you know what it is?”

“No idea,” Ollie said, staring up at the tall, slender object hidden beneath several layers of drapery. “Jim likes his secrets, you know.”

Joseph did.

Five minutes earlier, one of the mayor’s aides had directed Joseph and Kate to the study, where they’d found the newspaper man leaning against the remains of a large wooden crate. The contents of the box stood before them, a mystery wrapped in cloth.

“He’d better start spilling his secrets soon,” Kate said. “It’s getting late.”

Ollie smiled, shifting his attention from the tower to his new company. Joseph wasn’t surprised. The man had been angling to get him alone for much of the afternoon.

“Mr. Wylde, would you mind if I asked you a question?”

“Only if you agree to call me Joseph.”

“Of course, Joseph. Pardon my inquisitive nature, but your father-in-law’s amazing tale has awakened the journalist in me.”

“I didn’t realize that was something you put to bed,” Kate said.

“No, I suppose it’s not.”

“It’s all right,” Joseph said. “Ask me your question.”

“Thank you. I’m wondering if you recall another story from some years ago, one involving the Hanged Man and an attempted jailbreak.”

Joseph smiled.

Ollie raised an eyebrow. “Ah … you know the story?”

“I do.”

“Because you were there.”

Joseph felt Kate close the gap between them.

“I was the one he tried to break out, if that’s what you mean.”

“Then it’s true you were partners with the Hanged Man.”

Joseph hesitated, but only for a moment. “For a time.”

“A very short time,” Kate added.

Joseph took Kate’s hand. “I was young, and angry at the world. When I met the man our interests were much the same.”

“Pardon my skepticism, but I find it hard to believe a respected citizen such as you would have associated with such a violent man.”

“I’m embarrassed to say I did. Granted, this was well before he started killing with such relish. The man was a criminal, but not the monster most folks remember. Something happened after we … parted ways.”

“But he still called himself the Hanged Man, correct?”

Joseph nodded. “Before a job he would twist a piece of rope around his neck to scratch up the skin, make the scars look fresh.”

“The theatrics of fear,” Ollie said, mentally checking the facts in his head. “Now, you were in jail for…”

“Robbing Tom Sherman’s livery … unsuccessfully.”

“And it was the marshal who arrested you?”

“No, but he’s the one who kept me in jail,” Joseph said. “Three weeks, waiting for my partner to show his face. I wasn’t particularly happy about it, not at first, at least.”

“Oh? What changed your mind?”

Joseph nodded to his wife, who answered for him.

“He met me.”

*   *   *

She is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen and when she looks at him—sees him—Joseph knows his world will never be the same. He tries very hard to imagine her in it.

“Hello,” Kate says, hopeful the young man won’t reply. She didn’t mean to say anything. She doesn’t know why she did.

“Hello,” he says, barely. No word has ever been so difficult to get out. She blinks, uncomfortably. She’s afraid of him.

Kate glances across the jailhouse to where her father stands, back to her, speaking with a pair of local men, deputies, perhaps. He hasn’t seen her. When the smell of fresh biscuits finds its way to him he will turn. She turns first.

“My name is Kate,” she says, approaching the man behind bars. He’s handsome, she’s decided. Smells a bit like horse manure, but so do half the men (and a few of the women) she’s already met in town.

“Wylde,” he says, grateful.

“I’m sorry?”

“Wylde—Joseph Wylde—that’s my name.”

“Oh.”

She’s going to walk away … and she smells so good, like buttered biscuits. He should say something, anything, before …

“I only tried to steal a horse.”

Kate stares at Joseph Wylde. He has nice eyes.

“Why?”

Joseph shrugs. “I needed a horse.”

“You shouldn’t steal from people, Joseph. It’s wrong.”

“It is, you’re right,” he says, desperate to hear her say his name again. He will never steal again.

“I take it you were unsuccessful.”

Joseph leans against the bars. “What gave you that idea?”

Kate starts to laugh, but quickly covers her mouth.

Too late. Joseph has seen her smile.

And she sees his.

“Katie!”

Kate and Joseph both jump at the sound of the marshal’s voice. He’s already halfway across the room, the grimace on his face clearly visible. Joseph steels himself.

“Better go. The marshal doesn’t like me much.”

Marshal Kleberg stops directly in front of Joseph, his face red. He’s never seen the lawman so mad.

“Is that true, Daddy?”

Joseph glances at Kate, his jaw slipping open.

Kate shrugs.

“Talk to my daughter again, glance in her direction, and I’ll have your ass in the stockade. Got that?”

Joseph eyes the marshal, nods. Her father. This will be difficult.

The marshal turns to his daughter, taking her by the arm.

“I appreciate you bringin’ me lunch, Katie, but come on in, next time. Don’t be lingerin’ up here.”

Next time.

Joseph holds his gaze on the marshal just long enough for him to glance back and be satisfied. Then he finds hers.

And she smiles.

*   *   *

“Hand to God, one smile and my days as a criminal were over.”

Kate offered Joseph a refresher, followed by a soft kiss on the cheek.

“You were never much of a criminal, dear.”

Joseph didn’t quite believe that, but said nothing. He was happy for it to be mostly true.

“I see,” Ollie said. “Love conquers all. But there’s still the matter of your escape.”

“Wasn’t much to it. The Hanged Man showed up early one morning and started shooting.”

“Even though he knew the marshal would be expecting it? You meant that much to him?”