Dead Men Hanging
By Robert L. Sellers, Jr.
The sheriff of Goblin’s Toe faced a nasty dilemma when the posse showed up. If he turned over the three murderers they sought, his unique solution for keeping the peace would be revealed.
1891 / Goblin’s Toe, Wyoming
Sheriff Augustus Poe stepped out onto the boardwalk, pausing to relight his pipe. The brace on his left leg was starting to bother him again and he made a note to see the Doc about it first thing in the morning.
Enjoying the taste of the sweet, aromatic blended Cavendish tobacco, he looked down the street toward the lights of the Belmont Tavern.
Days spent riding in the sun had left his long hair bleached white while his skin was dark and heavily creased. Most people who met him thought he was older than his fifty-two years. His curled gray beard only added to the image of an older man.
He smiled, thinking of how often that false image had surprised someone who thought they could push over this sheriff. His left leg might be in a brace but the rest of his body was still in shape. The fact that he won more bets than he lost while target shooting showed his aim had not slipped any either; it may have even improved some.
With any luck, there would not be any more bar fights or gunshots to ruin what was otherwise proving to be a beautiful evening.
It was almost hard to believe that only the year before they had officially become the forty-fourth state. Up until then things had been pretty wild and rough.
Fortunately eighteen-ninety had come and gone taking with it the wild and wooly days and leaving mostly peace and tranquility in its wake.
Peace did not come without the occasional flare-up though, like the one at Phoebe’s earlier in the week. Three men had started a brawl and then tried to shoot their way out of it. Two patrons and one of the girls had died before it was over. Fortunately, he had been able to convince the rest of the town not to lynch the men on the spot.
As a federal marshal, he had covered the territory helping to enforce the law and apprehend the guilty that broke it. Had it not been for a stray bullet hitting his kneecap, he very well might still be doing what he had so enjoyed.
Those days were long past though. As the sheriff of Goblin’s Toe, Wyoming , he now cared for the same people day in and day out. The change had not been very hard to deal with as the town offered enough challenges to keep him busy.
Between the men who worked the Donnetelli Scaggs Mine, the ranch hands who tended cattle, or the folks who passed through town on their way east or west, there was always a chance someone would do something that required his attention.
He turned toward the quiet side of town hoping to walk off the pain the brace caused when he sat for too long in one place.
He had almost made it to the end of the boardwalk when he heard the sound of approaching horses. Turning back, he watched several riders rein their mounts to a halt in front of his office.
” Damn-it!” he cursed, knowing they would only come looking for him if he didn’t go back and see what they wanted.
He counted six of them, wearing dusters and gun belts. He saw rifles tied to each of their saddles as well. Even from a distance, it was clear from the glint of metal on their chests that they were lawmen of some sort.
Only one rider dismounted while the others remained in their saddles, straight backed and watchful of the town around them. He smiled noticing that each rider had one hand free and near his belt at all times.
Perhaps they simply wanted directions, but he doubted it.
“We’re looking for these three men. Any chance you’ve seen them?”
Poe leaned back in his chair. Years of playing poker allowed him to keep his reaction blank as he looked over the familiar faces on the wanted posters.
Although justice had already been delivered to the three murderers from Phoebe’s, these men would probably not understand the methods used or why. He needed time to figure out a plan.
He had been right about them being lawmen; the six men formed a sheriff’s posse from down south of Cheyenne . Their leader was a young man by the name of Bart Hollingsworth. None of the men was less than six feet tall or older than twenty-five. It didn’t take much to see that they were tough as nails — hard eyes, muscled and ready for anything.
Poe shook his head. “Not that I recall. I can check around and see if anyone else has. You might want to visit with Sheriff Payne in Lion Springs. He’s seen his share of problems lately, if you know what I mean.”
Bart frowned in clear disappointment. “That’s our next stop. We had really hoped they stopped here.”
Understanding the frustration he himself had suffered while chasing his own fugitives, Poe reached down and pulled out the bottle of whiskey that he often described as only for “medicinal purposes.”
Digging around the cabinet over the washbasin, he managed to find enough glasses for everyone and poured a round. Holding his glass up, he looked at the men as they raised theirs.
“May the men you’re chasing find themselves at the end of a rope, sooner rather than later.” It was an old marshal’s toast and brought smiles from several of the men.
He had to admit that he enjoyed the burn of the whiskey almost as much as the taste of the tobacco waiting for him in his pipe. He put his glass down and smiled, resting a hand on his leg brace. “I would offer to go along but with this leg . . .”
Bart returned the smile as he got up and the men began to file out. “No need. If we can’t find any sign of them we should be back through in a few days.”
Poe shook hands with him before watching them mount up and head back out of town.
Picking up the empty glasses, he set them in the washbasin and filled it with water from the pitcher. Capping the bottle, he placed it back in his desk before grabbing his own coat and heading out.
There was work to do before this night was through. He had come up with a plan and now needed to enlist the services of the town doctor to accomplish it.
If all went well, the posse would get their men and the town would be able to keep its secret.
The old Charlemonte mansion was located on a hill overlooking the town. Built by one of the original mine owners, it now served as the home of the three Dorchester sisters.
A sprawling two story building with a wraparound porch, tall narrow windows covered in vines, and a widow’s walk facing the mine, it looked spooky enough at night to ward off any casual visitor who might approach. The spiked iron fence surrounding the property only completed the image.
Walking up the winding road toward the mansion, he thought of how well the remote location had worked out for the three women. Not that they would have wasted any time worrying about what their neighbors might have thought of them if they had any nearby.
No light was visible in any of the windows leading him to believe that he had already missed them.
Reluctantly he decided to wait on the porch rather than aggravate his knee anymore than he already had on the way up.
Setting his lantern down in front of a bench, he pulled out a block of wood with a knife from his pocket. Ever patient, he gently began to carve the wood.
What had begun as a way to kill boredom while traveling had become a tried and true method of relaxation. Most times while he traveled, the choices of entertainment had been limited to carving or drinking and carving was the one option that would not bring a headache in the morning.
“Hello, Sheriff, what brings you out this way on a night such as this?”
With a start, he looked up and realized Abigail Dorchester must have been standing there for quite a while, silently watching as he had carved the wood.
Her long raven black hair was done up in a fancy bun while her sleeveless black gown looked like she had been to a formal party. She even wore black gloves that covered the pale skin of her arms just past her elbows.
Casually, almost as if gliding, she walked over and looked at the figurine that he held. He handed it to her and she held it up for closer inspection.
“If I didn’t know better I’d say this looks like me the first night we met.” She sat down next to him on the bench and continued to admire the details of his handiwork.
“Abby do you remember those three men that you and your sisters took care of for us?”
Abby turned the figurine slowly in her hands. “Yes, they caused no end of trouble at the tavern and the gentlemen’s club if I recall. It was a shame that they brought so much death to a house of pleasure.”
He winced knowing that not even he would have called Phoebe’s brothel a “gentlemen’s” club. “Yes, those would be the three.”
“May I keep this?” She asked with a pleased smile. Her alluring dark eyes were tempting to look at but he carefully avoided them.
“Please consider it a gift.”
Carefully pocketing the knife, he stood and looked out over the yard. “Actually it’s more of a bribe than a gift, from someone in need of a favor.”
When her smile faded and she raised a questioning brow, it was time for him to smile. “I need to see those men again, Abby. And before you ask, it won’t really matter if they are dead or alive.”
Rising to her feet, she moved toward the door. The request must have intrigued her, having not asked any more questions.
“Follow me then. We’ve been keeping them in the cellar.” Holding the door for him, she paused. “Watch your step down there.”
“And what should I be looking out for?” he replied.
“Rats.”
He had first met Abigail Dorchester on New Year’s night almost three years ago. He could remember every detail of what had happened that night and often replayed it while out walking the town.
He had been making his usual rounds and was heading back to his office when he heard a soft groan as he passed a gap between two buildings.
Concerned that someone might be in danger he had drawn his pistol and quickly made his way toward the alley behind the buildings.
Much to his surprise, he found that it was not a woman that had been in danger, but a man. There was a woman there as well, with long black hair and wearing what appeared to be a ball gown; however, she was holding the unfortunate man’s neck against her lips as she fed from him.
Turning to face him as he approached, she let her victim fall to the ground. He saw her tongue dart out, then it ran over fangs red with fresh blood. Her eyes seemed to glow like red embers in the darkness as she watched him.
Fortunately, this was not the first vampire he had run across or he would have shot her without any hesitation. Much like the giant grizzly, bullets only seemed to annoy vampires and generally just slowed them down or resulted in dead bystanders. Treating them as normal human beings had proven the best policy over the years when he had come across them.
For his own protection, he holstered his weapon and moved toward the fallen man. It was the infamous Michael Moorhen. His quick temper and meaty fists had landed him in the town jail on more than one occasion.
Without having to be asked, the woman had moved away and watched as he knelt to check for the man’s pulse. “Good, he’s still alive,” Poe announced with relief. Turning his back to the woman, he pulled Moorhen up and dragged him over to leave him slumped against the building.
“With any luck he will think he passed out back here.”
The woman had wiped the blood from her mouth and looked somewhat normal by then. Normal as far as a vampire might be concerned anyway. Her eyes no longer glowed which was also a good thing he assumed.
“Let’s take a walk before someone sees us back here with him, shall we, ma’am?”
“You’ve met someone like me before,” the woman observed, wrapping her arm through his as they moved toward the street. “My name is Abigail Dorchester.”
“I’m Sheriff Augustus Poe. But all my friends call me Poe.” So far so good; no one appeared to have noticed them leaving the alley.
“Does it not concern you how you found me back there?”
“That man has done worse to others in his day. As long as you left him alive I don’t have a problem with what would otherwise be nothing more than a minor assault.”
“Ah, so you have met others of my kind before.”
“Before I became sheriff I was a United States marshal, ma’am. We saw many strange things in our day. Vampires were just some of them. Do you have a place to stay while you’re here?”
He stopped as she turned to look up at the sky. He saw her smile at whatever it was she had seen. “So it’s true then, you can wish upon a star.”
“I suppose with your condition you get to watch them a lot.”
“What is it I can do for you now that we’ve met and you know what I am? I’m afraid it is rather unusual to meet someone who is not wary of us.”
“Well to be honest, you have presented me with something that our town has been in desperate need of.”
Turning, they continued arm in arm down the boardwalk toward his office.
“What did you have in mind?” she asked, watching people heading toward the tavern at the other end of the street.
“Well, doctors are hard to find around here and, given that folks like yourself tend to have been around awhile, I figure you might have some experience in that area.”
She thought about it for a moment. “I suppose we might be able to help you out with that.”
“We?” he asked, somewhat startled.
“My sisters Grace and Valeria are traveling with me and I’m sure they wouldn’t mind settling down for a bit.”
“Good, so then we have a deal. I know of a house that is available and would suit you well with its remote location.”
“It has been a long time since we had a home that we could call our own. I like you more and more, Sheriff Augustus Poe.”
“Please, call me Poe. We may have something else to offer in exchange for your services now and then.”
“Really, and what would that would be?”
“Well, given the amount of use the gallows tree has seen over the years, it almost seems a waste of rope each time we have to hang someone. Perhaps you and your sisters might take care of that for us when it’s called for.”
“That does sound like a grand idea.”
“Waste not, want not,” Poe replied with a smile.
The men lay silent, unceremoniously shackled to bedposts and stripped to their waists. Boots, shirts, and socks rested at the end of each bed.
Built much like the men chasing them, they looked deflated and weak now. When the brawl had broken out in Phoebe’s, it had taken several men just to get them under control once the gunfire had stopped. Even then, they had not surrendered easily.
The death sentences handed out and the method used to accomplish them seemed appropriate and just to everyone involved.
Signs of feeding showed on their necks and chests. One was even missing a nipple. It was eerie how the wounds seemed clean of any spilled blood.
Abby lit several lamps as she made her way around the room. “May I ask what you will do with them?”
“Hang them from the gallows tree.”
That stopped her in her tracks as she turned to look at him. “Now that is something I would not have expected, hanging dead men from a tree. How . . . original.”
“You know and I know they’re dead. It’s the posse chasing after them that has to believe they were alive when they were hung.”
“And the fact that they are bloodless will not cause concern?”
He began gathering up the men’s shirts and boots. “If we do this right, they won’t bother looking that close.”
Somewhat amused, she watched him look for something to put the dead men’s clothing in. “Perhaps you should allow my sisters and I to do that for you. We have had some practice at this and can carry them ourselves with little or no trouble.”
“Good point. How soon can you have them ready?”
“Would tomorrow night be acceptable?”
Setting the clothes down on the end of a bed, he nodded. “Tomorrow it is. Then we can hang them.”
“Would you like some whiskey before you leave?”
Poe smiled. “Actually I hate to ask for another favor, but this brace has been acting up again.”
Abby moved toward the stairs. “Come along. Your doctor has some whiskey waiting for you upstairs, as well as her tools.”
Bart Hollingsworth frowned as he looked up at the three men hanging from the tree. “You know, Sheriff, in as much as I appreciate your help in locating these men, I would have preferred them alive.”
Poe noticed that none of the men with Hollingsworth bothered to get off their horses as they looked at the bodies swinging from the tree.
“Normally, I would agree, however they managed to kill several people, and Judge Williams is partial to swift justice and a short rope.”
Hollingsworth simply nodded. “We have a judge like that back home who will be greatly disappointed that you beat him to the punch.”
“Do you want to take them with you?”
“No, go ahead and bury them when you get the chance. As long as we found them dead we have no need for them anymore.”
Poe signaled two men who began pushing a cart toward the tree.
“Sorry your trip was for naught,” Poe said, reaching out to pat Hollingsworth’s horse.
“You know how it is. You win some and you lose some. Good day, Sheriff.”
“Good day, Mr. Hollingsworth.”
Poe smiled as he watched the posse head home.
“All in a night’s work, Mr. Hollingsworth, all in a night’s work.”
Walking back toward his office, he smiled, realizing that Abby had managed to adjust his brace so well that he hardly even felt it now.
Good doctors were hard to find, and he planned to keep these doctors around for as long as he could.
Dead Men Hanging” first appeared online at Bewildering Stories #166 (September 26, 2005). It is copyright 2005 Robert J. Sellers, Jr. and appears here with the author’s permission.
Bob grew up in Superior , Wisconsin and currently resides in Kasson , Minnesota . Married with two daughters, he got back into writing as a hobby when he joined the on-line writers group offered by Kelley Armstrong.
A life long fan of the Minnesota Vikings football team, he is currently employed as a programmer analyst for the Mayo Clinic in Rochester , Minnesota . Building his own website has allowed him to receive feedback from works in progress that he uses to improve his writing skills.
He has always enjoyed dark tales of things that go bump in the night.
You can visit his website at: http://webpages.charter.net/sellersjr/index.htm
