“Yes, sir,” Anson said as he stepped forward with a medical bag to tend to Les’s wound.
Hagen turned to leave, but Montague moved over to slow his way. “I beg you again to rethink this, Charles. After all, the Pinkerton boys will be here any day now. They’ll most likely finish off Trammel for us. And on Old Man Bowman’s paycheck. Why not sit back and wait a week for them to do our work for us?”
Hagen kept walking, backing the banker out of the bunkhouse on his way to his horse, a black Morgan one of the men was holding for him.
King Charles took the reins as he climbed into the saddle and brought the horse around to face Montague. “That’s the difference between you and me, Fred. You don’t mind other men doing your work for you. I do. Those Pinkerton men might be here a day from now or a week or a month or not at all. Hell, they could be perched in front of Trammel’s jailhouse right now for all I care, and it wouldn’t change a damned thing. I’ll have that damn sheriff release my men before I whip him to death before God and the whole damned town, and that’s a promise. Because that’s what happens to people who cross me.”
He looked at the men who were riding into town with him and motioned to five from the bunkhouse. “You boys, follow my lead and don’t do anything stupid.” He nodded at the man at the far left. “And Billy, keep an eye on Mr. Montague here. He’s a careful man and I wouldn’t want anything to happen to him.”
* * *
Hawkeye sat amid the rocky outcropping known as Stone Gate that flanked the road to town from Blackstone Ranch.
He had tied his horse Daisy at the foot of the rocks and hoped to catch sight of any Hagen men before their mounts caught Daisy’s scent. His mare was in season and even a gelding might react to her presence. Hawkeye was well aware that he would need every second he could spare to alert the sheriff to Mr. Hagen’s approach. He had already followed Mr. Montague to this point when the banker rode out to the Hagen place just after sunup and he judged more than two hours had passed.
The young deputy’s stomach tightened as he wondered why Mr. Hagen had not come to town already. What was he waiting for? Certainly he would want his men out of jail as soon as possible. Was he waiting for men from other ranches to ride to town with him? There weren’t that many ranches left. Hawkeye’s own family ranch was now part of the Hagen empire. The other ranches were half a day’s ride away, and none of them were fans of the Hagen family. If he was waiting for them to come to his aid, he would be waiting until hell froze over.
His stomach tightened even worse as he began to worry that Hagen had taken another route to Blackstone. After all, there was no rule that said Hagen’s men had to use the main road. They could’ve gone through the woods, although it would’ve been a more difficult ride, particularly if there were many of them. But if that was the route they had taken, maybe the sheriff was already in trouble. And where was his deputy? Sitting in the middle of a bunch of rocks instead of doing his duty.
His fears were relieved when he heard the sound of approaching riders coming from the ranch. He removed his hat and raised his head just enough over the rocks to see men cresting the hill. Eight in total, with Charles Hagen himself well in the lead. The group was still too far away for him to identify the others, except to gather they were probably Hagen ranch hands.
Hawkeye scrambled down from the rocks, untied Daisy as he swung into the saddle, and set her to a full-out gallop back to town. She was a good horse and fast, and they made it to Main Street in almost no time at all. In fact, Hawkeye had to pull her up short to avoid hitting a freight wagon as he turned onto Main Street. He found Sheriff Trammel and Adam Hagen standing in front of the jail.
“They’re comin’,” Hawkeye yelled down from the saddle.
“How many?” Hagen asked.
“Eight riders. Looks like Mr. Hagen’s leading them down himself. They look like regular hands, not Pinkerton men, but I didn’t have time to hang around Stone Gate to make sure.”
“Good work, Hawkeye,” Trammel told him. “Now stash your horse around back and keep an eye on the prisoners like I told you.”
Hawkeye rode around behind the jail and tied Daisy to the porch rail of the jail. She bucked at the stench from the jail, and it made him feel awful to leave her tied up there, but he did not have a choice. The sheriff was depending on him for this to work, and if that meant poor Daisy had to be uncomfortable for a bit, then that was all there was to it.
He unlocked the back door to the jail and was sure to lock and bar it behind him when he got inside. The men in various stages of hangovers rattled the iron bars as they yelled questions and insults at him. Only Somerset, the crippled Pinkerton man, sat alone in his bunk and kept his silence.
The men quieted down when they saw Hawkeye pick up the coach gun and thumb back the hammers on both barrels. “Simmer down, boys. This’ll all be over in a little while. One way or the other.”
* * *
Adam Hagen fed the last round into his Winchester. “How do you want to handle this, Buck?”
Trammel cradled his Centennial rifle as he thought aloud. “Eight men. One of them being your old man. One other’s likely to be Montague. That leaves six hands with your father.”
“Cowhands,” Hagen pointed out. “Not gunmen. Father always relies on his foremen to do any gun work that needs doing, and you’ve got all of them locked up inside. The men riding with Father are probably only passable with a gun and not much for fighting. Time spent seeing to livestock has a tendency to soften a man.”
But Trammel knew the odds were still three to one, not counting King Charles or Montague. He imagined the old man was probably good with a gun, or at least thought he was. He would have no problem blasting away if his temper got the better of him. Trammel had seen that look in his eyes when he’d aimed that shotgun at him. Sometimes intent was more important than skill, for the sheriff knew it only took a single bullet to end a life. Gun hands or cattle hands, a lucky shot would make a man just as dead.
“You don’t need to be part of this,” Trammel told Hagen. “This might’ve been your plan, but it was my decision to go along with it. The responsibility is mine.”
“And leave you with all the fun?” Hagen grinned. “How selfish of you. And this is only part of my plan. Wait until you see what I have in store for those Pinkerton men if the time comes.” He nodded over toward the Clifford Hotel. “I was thinking of taking up a position over there. I can cover you with the rifle and go to work close in if it comes to that. But it won’t. Father has always been fond of sure things, and trading lead with you is a risk he won’t be willing to take.”
Trammel looked up when he heard the pounding of the earth beneath his feet. “Sounds like they’re on their way. Best get in position.”
But Hagen was already sprinting back to the hotel.
Trammel hoped like hell Hagen was right about what his father would do. He hoped his plan worked. He hoped he would be enjoying a nice meal this evening with Emily, complete with her mother-in-law’s haunting glare.
He yelled at a couple of people who had gathered across the thoroughfare. “Best get off the street. Find a place to hide and stay there until I tell you to come out.”
The people heard the approaching thunder, too, and scrambled down Bainbridge Avenue to get back to their homes and businesses.
He saw Mr. Robertson waving at him from in front of his general store, a Springfield rifle in his hand.
“Get back inside before you get shot!” Trammel yelled at him. “What the hell is the matter with you?”
Reluctantly, Robertson went back inside just as Mr. Hagen, atop a black Morgan, rounded the corner to Main Street. Six men trailed behind him, which Trammel figured to mean that Montague was probably hanging back until the situation resolved itself one way or the other.
Hagen brought his mount to a sudden halt about thirty yards away from the jail. His men spread out to flank him on either side.
Buck Trammel and Charles Hagen locked eyes as t
he sheriff raised his rifle and aimed it at the rancher’s chest. “That’s far enough, Hagen. One more step and I shoot.”
“You shoot, you die,” Hagen said.
“What’ll you care? You’ll already be dead.”
Mr. Hagen’s dark eyes glowered at the sheriff from beneath the straight brim of his black hat. “You dare talk to me like that in my own town?”
Trammel saw the rancher’s hand drop to a bullwhip coiled on his belt. He’d seen what the lash could do to the hide of cattle in Wichita and had no intention of feeling it himself. He racked a round into his Winchester. “That whip so much as flinches, I’ll blow you right out of that saddle.”
Mr. Hagen’s hand wrapped around the whip’s handle, but he did not pull it. “You kill me, my boys here will cut you down to size.”
But Trammel was not so sure. He might be a newcomer to this part of the world, but he knew bad men when he saw them, and it was clear to him that the men Hagen had brought with him were hardworking men. Good men who would shoot if they had to, but were not fighters. Given how their mounts shied away from the tension, the animals probably were not used to gunfire and would likely buck.
“I don’t think so, Mr. Hagen,” Trammel called out, “and neither do you. If you did, you would’ve come in firing.”
Mr. Hagen’s right hand came away from the bullwhip and formed a fist that he buried in his own leg. “Damn you, Trammel! Damn you to hell.”
The sheriff kept the Winchester aimed at Hagen’s chest. “You can curse me later. For now, you can tell me what you want or be about your business.”
“You know what I want.” Hagen cursed again. “I want my men back.”
“They were arrested for being drunk and disorderly,” Trammel told him. “Inciting a riot. Resisting arrest. Interfering with a peace officer. This town’s got laws against that kind of behavior.”
Hagen gritted his teeth. “Then I’m here to bail them out.”
“You’ll have to wait until I finish writing up the paperwork before that can happen. Things have been pretty busy around here the past couple of days, so I haven’t had the chance. Nor reason, either.”
The rancher’s face reddened. “You didn’t arrest those men because they were drunk. You arrested them to get back at me for making you look like a fool in my office the other day.”
“I arrested them because they were disorderly and were about to obstruct justice.” Trammel made a show of thinking about it. “But given your standing in the community, I might be persuaded to release them into your care, providing you promise to keep them out of trouble.”
Hagen appeared to take great pride in saying, “John Bookman hasn’t caused a lick of trouble since coming to Blackstone twenty years ago.”
“I was only talking about your cowhands. Bookman and the other ramrods stay.” Trammel swore he saw the rancher twitch.
“On what grounds?”
“On attempted-murder charges for Bookman,” Trammel explained. “Aiding and abetting a criminal and obstruction of justice on the others. You can have your cowboys back, Mr. Hagen, but the bosses stay with me.”
Despite his earlier warning, a crowd had begun to form on the boardwalks all over town. People were watching the big sheriff keep the most powerful man in the county, if not the territory, at bay.
More important, Hagen saw it, too. He seemed to appreciate the situation and composed himself as he crossed his hands across the pommel of his saddle. Trammel kept the Winchester aimed at his chest.
“Is there any way you might see fit to release Bookman and the others into my custody too, Sheriff? Say if I were to do you a favor? A demonstration of my commitment to law and order, if you will.”
Trammel liked where this was headed, but not enough to lower his rifle. “Such as?”
King Charles cleared his throat and spoke to be heard by the gathering crowd. “Such as my directing Mr. Montague to ride to Laramie immediately and send a telegram to Allan Pinkerton himself to see if there was a way to dissuade him from sending his men here after you.”
“I’d say that’s a generous offer, Mr. Hagen.” He shouted over to Adam. “You think that’s a generous offer?”
“I would expect no less,” Adam said, “as Charles Hagen is regarded as a most generous man. Though it will undoubtedly be quite a sum.”
Mr. Hagen leered at his son. “The safety of the town is certainly worth the price.”
Trammel lowered the rifle a hair. “I take it Mr. Montague is prepared to leave within the next day or so? I’m afraid I’ll have to keep your men until then.”
“In that case, he’s ready immediately. Fred! Come out here.”
Montague rode out onto Main Street on a bay gelding. “Yes, Mr. Hagen?”
Again, Mr. Hagen spoke loud enough for the townsfolk to hear. “I want you to ride to Laramie immediately and telegraph Mr. Allan Pinkerton personally. Tell him I am willing to surpass whatever price Mr. Bowman paid to send his men after Sheriff Trammel and my son. Do you understand what I want you to do?”
“Most definitely, sir.”
“And I shall be glad to accompany you, sir.” Adam Hagen, outfitted in a black frock coat and hat, trotted out from behind the Clifford Hotel on a black mare with a wild mane.
Trammel didn’t know much about horses, but knew it wasn’t a Morgan, though it was still a beautiful animal.
Charles Hagen glared at his son. “That won’t be necessary, boy. Mr. Montague has made the trip many times unescorted, least of all by you.”
“But I insist, Father,” Adam continued. “Why, the road to Laramie is fraught with road agents and other scoundrels seeking to prey upon unsuspecting pilgrims like the good Mr. Montague here. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to such a trusted ally of yours.” He grinned at the banker. “Or if he conveniently forgot to send that telegram.”
King Charles Hagen closed his eyes, then looked at Trammel. “I take it you’ll release my men as soon as they’re underway? Including Bookman and the others? With all charges dropped?”
“You’ll get your men free and clear,” Trammel said, “but charges against Bookman are pending. I’ll release him to your care if you’ll vouch for him.”
Hagen’s horse shifted as its rider tensed. “Just get them out of that hellhole.”
Adam rode beside Montague’s bay. “Well, Fredrick? Shall we?”
Reluctantly, Montague put the heels to his mount and rode off at a gallop. Adam stopped to tip his hat to his father before following the banker on the road to Laramie.
Mr. Hagen turned to the men who had ridden into town with him. “You boys head back to the ranch. No sense lollygagging around here when there’s plenty of work to be done back home.”
The men seemed all too happy to be on their way and took off for the Blackstone Ranch without a second word from their employer.
Mr. Hagen nudged his horse toward Trammel as the crowd that had gathered along Main Street began to disperse. “I assume I have your permission to watch my men be released.”
“You do.” Trammel rapped three times on the jailhouse door and called inside. “Let them out, Hawkeye. All of them.”
Hagen’s horse shied away from the stench emanating from the jail before the rancher brought the animal back under his control.
“Including Somerset?” the deputy yelled back.
Trammel slumped against the building. Sometimes, he forgot how dense the young man could be. “He able to walk yet?”
The momentary silence almost killed Trammel. “No. I don’t think so.”
“Then best leave him where he is. Let the rest out, including Bookman and his bunch.”
Through the closed door, he could hear the rattle of keys and the groan of metal gates opening.
“Now that it’s just you and me talking,” Charles Hagen smirked down at him, “I’ve got to hand it to you, Trammel. You’re many things, but you’re no coward.”
The sheriff looked up at the rancher. “Don’t pu
sh your luck, Hagen. No one’s ever pointed a gun at me and lived. No one. You want to keep on being an exception, keep your mouth shut and ride back where you belong.”
But Mr. Hagen would not be deterred. “I meant it as a compliment. Not too many men have defied me, especially with only a drunken rambler and a boy backing his play.”
It was Trammel’s turn to smirk. “You really think that dance back there was seven on one.” He shook his head. “No, sir. That was between you and me and no one else. You may have caught me flat in your office, but you’re the one backed down this time. And in front of the whole town, too. I guess you’ll just have to learn to live with it.”
Hagen tightened the reins and the horse moved back a couple of steps.
Trammel rested the stock of his Winchester on his hip, but did not lower it. “Easy, Hagen. No sense in getting killed after getting what you wanted.”
The jailhouse door opened and even Mr. Hagen gagged on the stench. His men began to file out of the jail, squinting in the bright sunlight of the morning.
The rancher struggled to keep the Morgan under control as the wretched odor pushed it back. “You men are a disgrace to the brand you ride for, each and every one of you. If I didn’t need you to work the place, I’d have been happy enough to let all of you rot in there until hell froze over. Now crawl down to whatever hellhole he pulled you out of, get your horses, and ride back to the ranch. I’ll deal with each of you later and in my own time.”
One of the ramrods said, “I’m awfully sorry about this, Mr. Hagen.”
“Shut your mouth and get going. Now!”
The men walked past Trammel without even a glance in his direction. He was as glad to be rid of them as they were to be breathing clean air. It would take a while to clear the stench out of the jail, but once Montague sent that telegram to Allan Pinkerton, it would all be worth it.
A bad smell was a hell of a lot easier to clean out than bloodstains.
Bookman was the last to walk out from the jail and tipped his hat to Hagen. “Thank you, boss.”
Bury the Hatchet Page 11
