* * *
Lucien Clay tipped his hat to all of the ladies he passed as he and Adam Hagen strolled through the streets of Laramie. None of them acknowledged his gesture of kindness. He hadn’t expected them to. After all, as the owner of most of the saloons and brothels in town limits, he was the reason why their husbands didn’t come home some nights.
“You do not seem to be held in high esteem by the fair ladies of town,” Hagen observed.
Clay pulled up the fur collar of his buffalo coat a bit higher. “It’s always chilly in town, more so when the womenfolk are around. Can’t say as I blame them, seeing the services my ladies provide for their husbands. Their husbands treat me even worse. They ignore me on the street, only to act like my long-lost brother when they come to get their itches scratched by my girls and their thirst quenched by my booze.”
Hagen laughed. “The pious justification of a vice peddler is a ponderous philosophy indeed.”
Clay laughed, too. Despite the fact that Hagen’s possession of Madam Pinochet’s ledger meant he ultimately held the high ground in the partnership, he had to admit that Adam Hagen was a tough man to hate.
Lucien Clay had been the most prosperous and most feared saloon keeper in the territory for years; second only to Madam Pinochet when it came to influence. Whereas Clay catered to the basest of needs of the territory leaders, Madam Peachtree, as she had been called, had kept extensive records of it. Through her web of snitches, clerks, and mouthy “girls,” the madam had long been rumored to keep a detailed ledger on which territory officials were being paid off and how often. She had a list of who visited opium dens and women of the evening. She knew which judges could be bought and for how much.
She had wisely preferred to rule the territory from the tiny town of Blackstone just north of the territorial seat in Laramie. It was within a day’s ride of the capital, but too far enough away for casual strangers to pry into her business.
The rumor of the ledger had been enough to keep her safe and under Lucien Clay’s protection. Her modest fees for her silence made it easy for Clay to grant it. Her knowledge of who could be bought and for how much had proven to be an invaluable asset over the years.
But the presence of the ledger wasn’t confirmed until Adam Hagen had showed it to him one night six months before when he and Sheriff Trammel brought Madam Pinochet to the county jail under the charge of attempted murder. The day that evil woman swung at the end of a rope brought no end of peace to many of the territory leaders, but their peace was short-lived because Hagen had the ledger.
Hagen’s allegiance to Sheriff Trammel had always puzzled Clay. He knew the big man disapproved of his friend’s opium dens and saloons.
Clay knew the sheriff was aware of the ledger and of his refusal to take part of the profits as his predecessor had done. His relative purity had caused Clay no shortage of concern. He had wanted to eliminate all doubt by killing Trammel, but Hagen forbade it. And as he held the ledger and continued to make entries in it, Hagen held all the cards.
So Lucien Clay decided he would tolerate Hagen and Trammel for as long as it suited his needs. And since Hagen was even more enterprising than Madam Pinochet had been, the arrangement had served all involved nicely.
“What’s on your mind, Adam?” Clay asked his partner. “You didn’t ride down here from Blackstone just to watch me get ignored by housewives and phonies. I take it you’re here about the bounty that has been placed upon your head.”
Hagen almost tripped. “Bounty? What bounty?”
“Guess I finally know something you don’t.” Lucien Clay enjoyed his moment of superiority. Hagen had a price on his head and didn’t even know it. It was a small victory Clay decided to savor for a while. It wasn’t often one got the chance to see cocky Adam Hagen squirm.
“Got word about it last night,” Clay told him. “Word is the Pinkerton Agency has put out a bounty on you and Trammel. Five hundred Yankee dollars to the man or men who bring either or both of you in. Dead or alive. The money is to be split evenly between all those involved in your capture or death.” He smiled as Hagen unbuttoned his coat and pulled the Colt from his holster before tucking it in his coat pocket.
“Thank you for getting word to me as soon as you could, Lucien.”
“Don’t be sore about it. It’s just a rumor. Haven’t seen any paper confirming it, and I don’t know a man worth his salt who’d try to tangle with either of you on nothing more than saloon talk.”
Hagen looked around them. “Amateurs can be dangerous, too, as we both know well.”
“Yes, sir. They most certainly can. Still, you’re safe in town as long as you’re with me. Might want to watch your back trail when you ride for Blackstone, though. Even the hope of five hundred dollars is enough to make some desperate folks do some very stupid things.”
“I wish I could get word to Buck.”
“That big ox?” Clay laughed. “Don’t worry about him. If my boys couldn’t put a dent in him, some hired guns from back east won’t be able to do it. Not unless the bounty is true. Though I must admit that you coming here to Laramie tells me there might be something to it.”
Hagen struggled to button his coat with his left hand while he kept his right curled around the pistol in his pocket. “I hadn’t heard about a bounty, but there is trouble coming our way. You’re right about that being the reason why I’m here.”
“You mean the trouble coming your way, my friend. There’s no paper out on me. At least none with my right name on it.”
“That’s the wonderful thing about our arrangement, Lucien,” Hagen said. “It’s a partnership in every sense of the word. My successes are your successes, which we share equally and happily. Likewise, my troubles are your troubles, so the calamity that faces me now faces both of us.”
“Depends on the variety of calamity.”
“The Pinkerton variety.”
Clay stopped walking.
Hagen grinned as he walked back to face him. “I thought that might get your attention.”
“The Pinkerton variety is nothing to laugh at, Adam. Those boys mean business and they don’t play fair. Putting a bounty on a man’s head is one thing. If they come to collect personally, that’s bad news.”
“All the more reason why we must face them as a united front.”
Clay didn’t feel as playful as he had only a few moments before. “When are they getting here?”
“I’m still trying to find that out,” Hagen admitted. “But fortunately, Sheriff Trammel is familiar with their methods. He said we should expect no fewer than a baker’s dozen to arrive, most likely by train. Quite possibly from Chicago, where they’re headquartered.”
“I know where they’re headquartered, damn it. How do you know they’re coming?”
“They sent a man to Blackstone to spy on us in advance of their arrival,” Hagen explained. “Unfortunately, the man sought to slake his more carnal appetites and got too rough with one of my girls, which brought him to Sheriff Trammel’s attention.”
Clay had heard about a dustup in Blackstone a few days before. “That the fella Trammel threw out a window?”
“One and the same. The sheriff found irrefutable proof that he is, indeed, a Pinkerton spy. Unfortunately, he doesn’t know any more about their plans, which Trammel said is customary for the Pinkerton Agency. He was supposed to spy on us and meet his fellow operatives here in Laramie. As he’s currently in bad condition in Trammel’s jail, he won’t be able to make it, but that won’t deter them from their mission.”
Clay looked up at the sky and drew in a deep breath. He had run up against Pinkerton men in Colorado and Michigan. They came in like the wrath of God and didn’t stop until everything in their path was dust. They always used the right men for the right job, too, so if they were coming, they’d be ready.
He opened his eyes and felt the warm sun on his face. The cold air made him feel alive. The cloudless blue sky was far too pretty to hear such bad news, but there was
no way to avoid it. “This is going to be a problem, Adam.”
“Only if we don’t try to head it off somehow.”
“You don’t head off a trainload of Pinkerton men, Adam. They run you down and keep on going.”
“You know the wonderful thing about Pinkerton men, Lucien?” Hagen took a step closer and lowered his voice. “They’re men. And men have needs that you and I happen to understand all too well. Needs that can be catered to in our advantage.”
Clay looked down at the shorter man. “What are you talking about?”
Hagen placed a hand on his back and nudged him forward. “Walk with me and I’ll explain everything.”
CHAPTER 9
As they finished their afternoon patrol of the town, Trammel finished telling Hawkeye about the trouble that was coming their way. The young man took the news better than Trammel had expected.
“Thanks for telling me, boss, but I don’t see as to how it changes things. I’m here for the duration and so are a lot of other folks. I’ll get to talking to some of the others in town who’ll help. Why, when those Pinkerton fellas ride up here, they’ll find—”
“Nobody,” Trammel said. “That’s why I want you to ride out of town when they get here. The drunks and the townspeople have nothing to fear from them. This isn’t your fight, and there’s no reason for you to get caught up in it. The town will need someone to pick up the pieces after it’s all over. Someone they can respect. That someone is you.”
Hawkeye remained quiet as they walked, as though he was still absorbing everything Trammel had just told him. The sheriff couldn’t blame him. Shooting back at men who were shooting at you was one thing. Knowing they were coming was something different.
Hawkeye surprised him by saying, “You know Miss Emily has been helping me with my reading, don’t you?”
“Sure I do. Says you’re doing fine with it.”
“That’s thanks to her. One of the things she’s helping me read is the Constitution. Ever read it?”
Trammel didn’t like the direction this discussion was headed. “Can’t say as I have, but I know what it is.”
“Well, I’ll tell you that it says it’s against the law for people to gun someone down just because someone pays them to do it. You’ve got a right to a trial and face your accusers in open court before a judge. The way I see it, them Pinkertons ain’t much better than Clay’s men who tried to kill you all them months back. I didn’t run then and I sure as hell won’t run now.”
The boy’s bravery, as foolish as it was, touched Trammel. “Just because a piece of paper says something is illegal doesn’t keep it from happening. Clay’s men were a rough bunch and we stood up to them. You and me. But what’s coming our way isn’t a bunch of hotheads with pistols and rifles. They’ve trained for this kind of thing. They’ve done it dozens of times before. They’re well-paid because they’re good at it and know what they’re doing. They’re the best at what they do.”
“Better than you?” Hawkeye asked. “You were one of them, weren’t you?”
“I was one of them, yes. But we’re talking about twelve or more, and that makes the difference.” Trammel pointed out to the open country that surrounded the town. “You grew up in this country. You know there are lots of ways a man could die just by riding from one place to another. Your horse could step in a hole or throw you. You could get bitten by a snake or freeze to death on the prairie. You could run out of water and die. But those are risks you take for living out here. Going up against Pinkerton men when you don’t have to is a dumb risk, and it’s not one I’m going to allow you to take. I’m the sheriff and you’re my deputy, so I’m ordering you to get the hell out of town when those men get here.”
A couple of townsmen tipped their hats as they passed by. “Afternoon, Sheriff Trammel. Deputy Hauk.”
The lawman acknowledged them as they passed. Trammel thought he saw tears in the young man’s eyes.
Hawkeye thumbed back at the men who had just passed. “You hear that, Sheriff? They called me Deputy Hauk. Before you came to town, those men would’ve sooner spat at me before they acknowledged me at all. I was the boy whose father lost his ranch over a card game and died inside a bottle. Because of you, I’ve got their respect now. Because of you, I’ve got respect for myself. I was a joke in Blackstone before you came here. Now, I’m Sheriff Trammel’s deputy. I didn’t have anything before you gave that to me. And I’m not going to let anyone come into town and take that away from me, not even you, sir.”
The young man pawed at his wet eyes with his sleeve. “So you can order me to leave if you want to, but I’ll be refusin’ that order. And if you fire me for insolence, I guess I’ll just have to go back to fetching bottles and cleaning up puke in the Moose. But when those Pinkerton men get here, I’ll be standing in front of the jail right next to you with a rifle in my hand whether you want me there or not. So, the way I see it, best to skip all that and let me stay on, because I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
Trammel’s breath caught. He’d never had anyone believe in him as much as this boy did. And he was beginning to think that, with him at his side, he just might have a chance to see this thing through.
“So I guess it’s settled then?” Trammel said.
“I reckon so.” Hawkeye wiped more tears from his eyes. “Now, aside from telling me to leave, what do you want me to do next?”
Trammel checked the clock at the top of the Blackstone Bank building and saw it was going on four o’clock. “Then it means you’re about to become a busy man.”
“Just tell me what to do, boss.”
“How about you pick up Somerset’s supper from the Clifford Arms and clear out the cells while he’s eating.”
“Clear them out? Why, I just swept them this morning.”
“I know you did. But I need you to pull the cots and tables so we have more room in them.”
“You think we’re going to need more room?”
He clapped the young man on the back. “I know we will. Now, on about your business, Deputy Hauk.” He watched the young man stride across Main Street to fetch the prisoner’s supper from the hotel. He imagined a Mexican general in full regalia would’ve been hard pressed to look any prouder.
He was about to cross the street to check on the prisoner himself when he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye on the left. It wasn’t so much as a movement, but a sudden lack of motion that drew his attention.
He slowly turned to see two ragged men standing in front of the Old Mill Saloon a few doors up from the jail along Main Street. They were older than him, maybe in their forties or more. They weren’t like the normal cowpunchers or farmers that frequented the town’s saloons. These men were pale with hollow red eyes, likely from hours spent inside a saloon instead of out working for a living. Their clothes were filthy and their crooked beards speckled with gray.
They had pistol butts sticking out of their filthy pants and they were both looking directly at him.
Even from that distance, Trammel could tell by the way they were standing that they weren’t nervous at the sight of a lawman or even at the sight of the man they had read about in the papers, for he doubted either man could read. They had the look of men who were not dangerous by nature, but were working themselves up to do something dangerous. Something that might likely get them killed.
Something like going up against him.
He called out to them. “You boys have something on your mind?”
The taller of the two drew first and got off the first shot. Trammel had already ducked and drawn the Peacemaker from his hip before the second man fired. Both shots were hurried and fell well short in the thoroughfare.
The men ran toward him from the other side of the street, firing as they moved. The shots went high, with one bullet striking the corner of the house beside Trammel.
The sheriff brought up his Peacemaker, aimed at the lead shooter, and fired. The bullet caught the man high in the right shoulder, spinning him like a
top and making him fire into the air.
The second man kept running and firing. His third shot bit into the boardwalk to Trammel’s left. The sheriff aimed and fired again, striking the man in the center of the chest, knocking him off his feet.
Trammel stood up, keeping his Peacemaker in front of him as he walked toward the men. Hawkeye had come running out of the Clifford Hotel, pistol in hand.
“Stay out of it,” Trammel yelled at him. “I’ve got them.” He reached the boardwalk in front of the jail. The second man he’d shot in the chest was splayed like a star in the thoroughfare, his vacant eyes staring up at the gray sky.
But the first man was on his backside, scrambling for his gun with his left hand.
“It’s over,” Trammel called out to him. “Throw up your hands.”
The wounded man lunged for his pistol as best he could and Trammel fired, hitting him just above the belly. The man jerked back and collapsed to the boardwalk.
Trammel kicked the second man’s pistol off the boardwalk and kept his Colt trained down on the man he had just shot twice. He stepped on the pistol the first man was still reaching for and slid it out of his reach.
“Why’d you go and do a damned fool thing like that?” Trammel yelled.
The dying man struggled to raise his head. “’Cause five hunnert is five hunnert, mister.” His head sagged and his body went limp as his dying breath escaped him.
Hawkeye descended on the dead man, searching his body for weapons, just as Trammel had trained him to do. “What the hell was that all about, boss?”
“From what he said”—Trammel holstered his Peacemaker—“sounds like there’s a bounty on my head.”
Hawkeye stood up with a bowie knife he had taken from the corpse. “Hell, there’s easier ways of making five hundred dollars.”
“Not for them.” Trammel eyed the crowd that was spilling onto Main Street from the shops and saloons to see what had happened. He was glad there wasn’t a strange face among them. “And more will come to collect.”
Hawkeye collected the pistol Trammel had kicked aside. “Or die trying, if we have anything to say about it.”
Bury the Hatchet Page 6
