Elliot 1

The year was 1879, in a town called Deadwood. Hm, how fitting for a story like this. Do you believe in ghosts? How about angels? Well, you're about to hear a story with both. A story of revenge, compassion, and love. A story only I can tell. You're about to hear, my story.

My name is Hendrick Elliot Benedict, but you can call me Elliot. I was a private detective brought to Deadwood by an anonymous letter delivered to my office in Chicago. I remember getting here to Deadwood, in the Dakota Territory and thinking how beautiful this place was. The Black Hills Gold Rush started about five years ago and the gold was abundant. The mining companies were hungry for gold and were buying up as much land as they could, to mine.

This is the place where Wild Bill had met his end back in '76, while playing poker. Where Calamity Jane resided for quite some time, helping with the small pox outbreak in the mining camps before moving up to Bear Butte to help build Fort Meade. Even Wyatt Earp and his brother, Morgan Earp, spent some time here making money hauling logs and helping guard the gold, before going back to Dodge City to become their town marshal.

It was beautiful country, rich in colors and thick with trees, down in the gulch. I rode into town in July, nearly the dead of summer in hot and humid Dakota Territory. It was a hustling, bustling little town. Many prospects were here looking to get rich. But there was only one I was interested in and that was John Carlston.

Mr. Carlston was the owner of one of the mining companies here. He was a good businessman, but a dirty one. I had recently received a letter saying that Mr. Carlston had killed some people for their land. The local Sheriff, Mr. Seth Bullock had all of Lawrence county to handle and there hadn't been a town marshal in nearly two years, so there wasn't really anyone to investigate these allegations. That's why I was here.

I started asking around about Mr. John Carlston and found out too much. There had been a couple, Stephen and Marisol Phillips, who had owned a good acreage of land in the hills that was rich in gold. After they told him, no, Mr. Carlston kept asking, harrassing them, trying to scare them into selling it to him cheap. Mr. Carlston didn't want to pay what the land was worth and when the couple wouldn't sell for less, they suddenly disappeared. Some said they got tired of Mr. Carlston harassing them for the land and left, but many believed Mr. Carlston had a little more to do with it.

I rode around looking for people who knew Mr. Carlston and the Phillips. Everyone seemed to like Stephen and Marisol, had nothing but good things to say about them, but not many nice things were said of the mining tycoon though no one had any solid evidence of any wrongdoings.

One night I was snooping around at the mining office, trying to find any kind of lead or evidence to pin Carlston. Instead, I nearly got caught by one of his men, but I was able to get away, or so I thought.

I went back to the inn and sat on the bed, spreading my notes in front of me. I had amassed much information but nothing substantial. I must have fallen asleep because I woke in a wagon, a supply wagon that was moving down the road. My hands were bound behind my back and I was gagged. I remember trying to loosen the ropes around my wrists but instead I ended up rubbing them raw. Then the rope bit at the raw skin at every bump and the heat felt like it was cooking me inside a coal burning stove. I was so thirsty and I felt dizzy from the dehydration. I knew, then, that it was over and all I could do was pray and wait for the inevitable.

After a day in the wagon, night was falling and we had finally reached our destination. Two men pulled me from the wagon and I could see where they had brought me to die, the badlands. The canyons were deep and numerous and a thousand thoughts of how they were going to kill me passed through my mind.

"You shouldn't of come here snoopin' round. You shoulda stayed in your fancy office in Chicago. Now, you gonna die, Boy," I heard one of the men say as we continued on.

The two men who had pulled me from the wagon now stood me in front of another. I assumed this was John Carlston. He was fine dressed while the two holding me looked tattered and dirty.

"All you had to do was ask, Mr. Benedict, but we don't take too kindly to folks snoopin' where they don't belong," the finely dressed man said. "Take him to our spot, Boys."

The two holding me dragged me to the edge of a flat plateau looking out at the sunset. I could see the layered rings on the walls of the ravines, they nearly glowed in the twilight of the setting sun. I didn't see anything else after I heard the rifle click, though. Everything just went dark.