OLD DEADWOOD DAYS (Tales of the Soiled Doves): THE COMPLETE STORY
I’ve always loved history. Especially the history of my home state of South Dakota. A few years ago, HBO did a great series about Deadwood, a city that I live not very far from. A city and an area (the Black Hills) I’ve grown to love since I moved out here from the east side of the state. So I decided I would try to tackle a story about that city, set in the same time frame of the HBO series. But let me say this from the start. This isn’t HBO’s Deadwood. It isn’t even the Deadwood in the history books. This is my Deadwood, seen through the eyes of a group of working women or ‘soiled doves’ that arrived there at the start of the gold rush. You’ll see familiar names, real people in history who I’ll try to portray as truthfully as possible. I’m also including some fictional ‘ancestors’ of FCF regulars. I really hope you all enjoy this little trip back to the Old West!
xoxo
~Laurie~
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
THE SOILED DOVES:
J.P. "MADAME FEATHERLEGS" FOURCADE, the Australian madame who brought her girls to Deadwood from the Comstock Lode, played by Ms. Jenn Peccavi
JOANNA "JERSEY JO" NAWLS, the blonde who survived the mean streets of Hell's Kitchen, New York City, played by Grlwrestler Joanne
GEMMA "LADY GEMM" GREY, the Brit who fled from Wales accused of a murder she didn't commit, played by Gemma Rox
JONICA "TEE POO" DUPUIS, the Cajun who escaped the horrors of Civil War Louisiana and was forced to leave her beloved Bayou Teche, played by Jonica
MEG “DARLIN CLEMENTINE” HAWKES, the proper refined young Alabama belle whose antebellum way of life was destroyed by the Civil War, played by Megan_23
LAUREL "LITTLE BIT" LUCKETT, the orphan with Lakota Sioux blood from the Dakota Territory, played by yours truly
MISS SARA ATHERTON, a traveling actress with the Langrishe Theater Company, played by Lil_Sara
SILKY HEIDI, one of Lurlene "Queen of the Blondes" Johnson's soiled doves, played by Preppy_Girl_Fighter
KASSI DELIGHT, one of Lurlene "Queen of the Blondes" Johnson's soiled doves, played by Kasia69
“HALF-PINT” MARIE BLESSING, also known as Morningstar Clearwater, a mysterious young woman who was kidnapped and raised by the Crow, the mortal enemies of the Sioux, played by Marie B
HISTORICAL CHARACTERS:
"COLORADO" CHARLIE UTTER, longtime friend and "pard" of Wild Bill Hickok
THE COWARD JACK McCALL, cowardly drunken killer of Wild Bill Hickok
STEVE UTTER, Charlie's brother and business partner
JAMES BUTLER "WILD BILL" HICKOK, legendary gunslinger and lawman
JACK "WHITE EYE" ANDERSON, another longtime friend of Hickok's
MARTHA JANE CANNARY, released from a Fort Laramie jail to the care of Steve Utter, later became famous as "Calamity Jane"
CALIFORNIA JOE MILNER, grizzled old scout and another Hickok "pard"
AL SWEARENGEN, villainous owner of the Gem Theater and Cricket Saloon
DOC BABCOCK, Deadwood's doctor
BILLY NUTTALL, the co-owner of the No. 10 Saloon
WILLIAM MASSIE, famous riverboat captain, played poker with Hickok at the No. 10 (true) ... also the captain of the fictional riverboat Natchez Lady in the story
CARL MANN, co-owner of the No. 10 Saloon, in the poker game with Hickok
CHARLIE RICH, young gambler, in the poker game with Hickok, refused to switch seats with him
SAM HARRY YOUNG, bartender at the No. 10 Saloon
SAMUEL CLEMENS, better known as MARK TWAIN, encounters Tee Poo on board the Natchez Lady
FEE LEE WONG, one of Deadwood's leading Celestials
JACK LANGRISHE, the owner/proprietor of the Langrishe Theater and head of the Langrishe Traveling Company
JEANNETTE LANGRISHE, his wife
WYATT EARP, the legendary lawman, makes a cameo appearance
GEORGE HEARST, millionaire mining tycoon/businessman, the mysterious ‘H’, mentioned but never seen
FICTIONAL CHARACTERS:
FREIDA POLLYNOSE, a crib girl fighting in the muddy Deadwood thoroughfare
MOLLY B'DAMN, a crib girl fighting in the muddy Deadwood thoroughfare
THE ALBINO, mute giant longtime associate of Madame Featherlegs
THE DWARF, another business associate of Madame Featherlegs
"BULL RUN" SHAUGHNESSY, a nasty hotel proprietor in Cheyenne, Wyoming Territory
BRIDGET SHAUGHNESSY, his fat equally nasty daughter
MISS PETTIJOHN, a 'respectable' lady on the Utter wagon train to Deadwood
CAPTAIN PORTERHOUSE, brutish underling of Madame Featherlegs' mysterious wealthy benefactor known only as "H"
HYWEL, the 19 year-old son of the Viscount of Venneford in Wales, one time lover of Gemma Grey
BRONWYN TREWENT, Hywel's jealous fiancee, accidentally murders him. Her intended target was Gemma.
EBBERLY PACKIS, fat gambler on the Natchez Lady riverboat, is shot and killed
MRS. MINERVA PACKIS, his vulture-like wife, tries to kill Tee Poo after her husband is shot
JEFFERSON BOURDILLION CORD, Tee Poo's handsome gambler, a suspected cardsharp and cheat
TRICKSIE LYNN, one of Al Swearengen's girls, lived in the orphanage with her hated rival Little Bit
C.C. CLEEVER, an associate of the mysterious 'H'
SETHRO, a horny obnoxious young miner
GUNILLA, another one of Lurlene "Queen of the Blondes" Johnson's soiled doves
CRUTCH, a simple old man, in charge of the bath house
LINDA LITTLETREES, a Crow squaw woman, brings fresh water and towels to the bath house
THE PETTIS GANG: O.W. PETTIS, JELSICK PETTIS, MOZE, RINGO, outlaw band, accomplices of the mysterious ‘H’
RYAN TYREE, a handsome young drifter/gunfighter
Chapter One
The two crib girls stared at each other from either side of the muddy thoroughfare, their hate-filled eyes ignoring the stream of wagons, miners, settlers, horses and cattle moving through the bustling camp town. But not very much was moving right at the moment. Wagons were backed up far as the eye could see, for miles and miles down the canyon road framed by the tall black spectral pines that gave the hills its name. Loud voices filled the air, protesting the delay, using language so ripe and colorful that mothers tried to block out with their hands clamped over the ears of their grinning children. Even the ones who didn’t speak English had to know the meaning of those loud profane oaths. It’s safe to say that, yes, a lot of people were frustrated and angry at the moment. But none more so than the two women about to rip into each other.
On one side was a stocky buxom blonde with the square-faced ruddy features so common to the natives of Northern Europe and a large hooked nose that resembled a parrot’s beak. We found out later she went by the name Freida Pollynose. Facing her was a taller, thin, wiry raven-haired woman with deep sunken haunted eyes, the pale pallor of an opium addict and the unique moniker Molly B’Damn. These two were “crib girls”, low-class prostitutes who plied their trade in small dingy rooms or “cribs” located in one of the many saloons that had popped up in the mining camp in the span of a few months. Both women looked like they just fell out of bed, their hair all wild and tousled, their feet bare, their dresses cheap, faded and worn.
With snarls and cries of fury, they stepped off the boardwalks into the muck, charged at each other in a fury, crashing together in a flailing swirling blur of arms and legs, punching, kicking, scratching, gouging, right in front of our stalled wagons.
“Oh, look,” Jersey Jo giggled. “They’re putting on a show just for us!”
Madame Featherlegs shook her head in disgust. “These low-class whores give us all a bad name.” Her posh Australian-accented voice reeked with contempt for the fighters. “Putting their bloody business out on the street like that!”
The blonde-haired girl from New Jersey took a bite of her apple. “Still,” she said, as she chewed, “it passes the time.”
Featherlegs gave her a look. “How many times have I told you all about talking with your mouth full? First impressions, ladies.” She made sure her voice carried to the rest of us in the other wagons. “We came here to bring class to the peasants living in this God-forsaken place. They have gold to spend, they’ll pay happily for some refined entertainment.“
Tee Poo and “Lady” Gemm looked at each other and rolled their eyes. Tee Poo mouthed the words along with Madame Featherlegs. Clementine lowered her head and buried a discreet smile behind her small fan, like the Southern belle she was. We’d all heard this speech before. A number of times. Even me, and I just joined the group at Cheyenne.
Tee Poo muttered, “I been doing this a while, me, and I never before heard a poke called a ‘refined entertainment’.”
Gemm retorted, “That’s because you wouldn’t know ‘refined’ if it came up and bit your Cajun ass!”
Not to be outdone, Tee Poo shot back, “So says the cheap Welsh tart! If your pere wasn’t so damn busy swilling cheap gin, he’d of put you in a nunnery where you coulda learned something useful, like sayin’ prayers an’ darnin’ socks!”
Madame Featherlegs had had enough. “Nark it! The both of you!”
This put a quick end to the good-natured bickering and we all turned our attention to the short man in buckskins who rode up to our wagons from the head of the line, his chestnut mare deftly sidestepping the two women rolling around in the mud.
“What’s the delay, Mr. Utter?” I called out from the second wagon, where I sat next to the giant Albino, mute as always, clutching the oxen’s reins tightly in his huge veined hands.
‘Colorado’ Charlie Utter took off his hat and mopped his sweaty brow with a dirty bandanna. He shook his head and gave a weary grin. “Damn fool squarehead loaded his wagon too full an’ got his wheels stuck in the mire. Tried to get ‘er goin’ again an’ dug hisself in even worse. From the looks of it, he ain’t movin’ any time soon. Dumb-ass sumbitch. ‘Scuse my French.”
While all this was going on, blonde Freida managed to pull herself free from her wiry foe and struggled to stand up. Her dress, ripped and covered in mud, stuck to her body as she slipped in the muck and almost fell again. But she kept her balance and immediately went on the attack. Screaming in her native tongue, she yanked the taller girl up to her feet by the hair and slammed a hammering fist flush into her nose.
Raven-haired Molly was dazed as the blood started flowing from her nose, mixing with the oozy mud already on her face. Staggering, she almost fell but managed to stay on her feet as Freida smirked with satisfaction, thinking the fight was just about over. Well, that proved to be a big mistake. Molly may have stood about five inches taller but the stocky blonde outweighed her thin foe by at least thirty pounds. The feel of the blood streaming down her face must have lit a fuse deep inside Molly and she flew at Freida, her arms windmilling wildly, her flailing fists and flying feet raining a cascade of punches and kicks into her enemy’s face and body.
The blonde, caught off-guard, reeled from the wild attack, bumping into a scrawny little guy with a drooping left eye and a nose that looked like it had been broken and badly set by a drunk doctor. Or maybe just a drunk. The little guy, who must have been drunk himself, made a grab for Freida’s tit, ripping her dress even more, exposing it, which earned him a hard shove and a trip to the mud.
Some folks standing on the boardwalk found this amusing. One of them cackled, “Why don’t ya go catch yourself a cat, Jack, an’ leave the titty grabbin’ to them who know what they’re doin’?”
Droopy Eye got to his feet, looked around, acknowledged the laughter with a sheepish wave and grin, then fixed his drunken gaze on our wagons. He doffed his muddy cap, revealing a rat’s nest of unkempt chestnut hair that fell over his low forehead. A wide smile broke out on his battered face, showing thick lips and a lot of crooked teeth that were as dirty as the rest of him.
“Looks like we got us some new meat come to town,” he rasped. And then spit into the mud. “How’s about you let Jack McCall break you in proper?”
Madame Featherlegs sized up the boastful little man. She was really good at reading people, could tell in a flash if they were worth their salt or if they were just full of piss and vinegar. In less time than it took to write this, she knew everything about Jack McCall that she needed to know.
She gave him her sweetest smile and asked, “You have anything in your pocket beside dirt and fleas?”
The blustery little fellow swayed and blinked his crossed eyes a few times.
“Not at the present time, no,” he slurred, “but I ‘spect my luck’s about to turn.”
“We’ll be waiting for that to happen, mate,” she purred. “And when it does, you come calling. My girls will show you a side of heaven most can only dream about.”
“Go sit your ass in a bathtub for a few days, why don’t ya?” Jersey Jo chimed in. “You look like a pig in shit.”
Jo flung her half-eaten apple at the drunk. He swatted a hand at it, sending it sailing through the air where it hit the mud with a splat and was happily gobbled up by a nearby tethered horse.
Droopy Eye Jack scowled. “Oh, so I ain’t good enough for you, is that what you’re sayin’? Sittin’ up there in your fancy store-boughts actin’ all high an’ mighty. Shit, you all ain’t nothin’ but a pack of whores!”
Shaking a fist menacingly, he moved closer to the wagons. Charlie Utter’s eyes narrowed and he reined his horse around to confront McCall. But the Albino suddenly rose to his full six foot-seven inch frame and fixed a deadly red-eyed glare at Jack that froze him in his tracks. And if that wasn’t enough to make the drunken vagrant see the error of his ways, the sight of the Dwarf materializing from inside the wagon with a rifle aimed between Jack’s crossed eyes did the trick.
Jack backed up a step, scowled, grimaced, dropped his gaze down and spit again. He gave us all a snarky little grin, with spit dripping from his chin, turned and shuffled down the thoroughfare. As the pathetic little drunk unsteadily staggered away, the two mud-covered whores continued their life and death struggle.
The heavier blonde withstood her enemy’s wild onslaught and, as Molly danced in again, Freida nailed her with a wild sweeping roundhouse left that sent her sprawling. But the combination of hate and opium made Molly scramble back up again like nothing happened. She charged the blonde, claws bared, raking her nails over her exposed breast. Freida screeched in pain and the thin girl pressed her advantage by gouging and slashing her victim’s eyes.
Freida flailed her hands wildly at Molly’s arms, finally knocking them away from her face. Blinking her burning eyes, now full of tears, Freida took a few steps back and lashed her right foot out blindly with a lucky shot, catching her foe flush in her thin belly, knocking her flat on her ass. The blonde slipped in the mud and she also went down. They both lay there wallowing in the muck, gasping for breath, hurling curses at each other between whimpers of pain and fury.
During this lull in the action, I turned to Mr. Utter.
“How’s Mr. Hickok today? In better spirits, I hope?”
“A lot better than last night, Miss Luckett, thank you. I’ll tell him you was askin’ on him. I’d best be gettin’ back.” Utter tipped his hat. “Ladies,” he muttered formally as he rode back to the front of the line.
“Hell, Little Bit,” Tee Poo laughed, “we ain’t goin’ nowhere any time soon. Why don’t you run on up to Hickok’s wagon and pass the time playing with Wild Billy’s willy?”
“Shut up, Tee Poo,” I snapped, flushing a bit. “It ain’t like that an’ you know it. B’sides, Mr. Hickok is married.”
From the other wagon, Jersey Jo laughed, “Shit, bein’ married never stopped nobody!”
Tee Poo smirked, “Specially if the willy in question is on a celebrity.”
“Jonica speaks from experience. She is the biggest star fucker of us all,” Gemm declared, using Tee Poo’s true name. “She’d fuck Sitting Bull standing up if he had two bits in his pocket.”
Clementine leaned over to me. “I didn’t know Indians had pockets,” she whispered musically in her soft Alabama drawl.
“Only on Sundays,” I answered, earning a rare smile from the Albino.
Madame Featherlegs shook her head. “God’s Teeth, I have children again!”
By this time, the two fighters had pulled themselves back up to their feet. Both were exhausted and showing the effects of their struggle. Blood continued to flow from Molly’s nose, her right eye was puffed and swollen, and her thin arms were full of welts and scratches. Angry crimson furrows covered the tender flesh of Freida’s right breast. There were deep gouges and slash marks on her square face where her enemy’s nails had done damage. They slowly circled each other, like two wounded lionesses in the wild, waiting for the chance to strike.
Molly moved close enough to try to kick the blonde in her knee but the slippery mud caused her to slip and fall. Freida was on her in a flash, straddling her belly, using her weight to pin her down. The pinned girl bucked and twisted her body, squirming wildly to free herself, as the big blonde started hauling off on her, slamming her fists into her face.
Molly used one hand to protect her face and block the brunt of the punches. In desperation, she latched hold of the blonde’s tit with the other, digging her jagged nails in deep as she squeezed. Freida squealed as Molly used her long legs to full advantage by slamming her knee hard into her back. The heavier girl managed to stay on top of her opponent and she grabbed her bony wrist to pull the deadly claws away from her ravaged breast. Freida’s weight pressed hard on the Molly’s thin stomach, making it hard to breathe.
Grasping frantically on the ground with her right hand, Molly scooped up a heaping pile of mud and manure. She hefted it, the muck oozing and dripping down her thin arm. Before Freida could start punching her again, she smashed the muck into the bigger girl’s wide eyes, big nose and open mouth.
Freida gagged and let out a gurgling cry. Blinded and retching up mud and manure, she sprawled backwards off her foe who used her feet to kick the stocky girl even farther away. Molly managed to crawl away and scramble to her feet, doubled over, gasping, trying to catch her breath. Freida staggered blindly to her feet. Losing her balance as she frantically wiped her eyes, she stumbled backwards directly toward the wagon where Madame Featherlegs sat.
“Time to end this nonsense,” Madame Featherlegs announced, as she hiked up her petticoats, swung her legs around and drove her right boot hard into the staggering blonde’s back.
Freida let out a yelp of surprise and lurched back toward Molly who had, by now, straightened up. Seeing her opportunity, she didn’t waste it. Planting her feet in the ooze, she swung a hard straight right fist flush into Freida’s jaw. Poleaxed, her body stiffened as if she was shot. She toppled back slowly, hitting the mud with a sickening loud splat. She jerked and twitched, then lay still, except for the rapid heaving of her belly.
Molly stood watching her fallen enemy, fists clenched, breathing hard. Satisfied that Freida wasn’t getting back up, she stumbled away, back onto the boardwalk, disappearing into one of the buildings. Two miners approached the fallen whore, bent over, each grabbing a limp wrist, and started dragging her away. One of them, an older man with a lined face and gray beard, grinned up at us.
“Welcome to Deadwood,” he cackled.
