Bury the Hatchet

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  Trammel knew he was talking about the cowhands at the Blackstone spread. He had gone up against those boys a few times in the past and doubted they would be any match for Pinkerton men, but on horseback in a close-quarters fight like Stone Gate they would be. Their numbers might be enough to carry the day.

  Hawkeye’s plan just might work after all, but it was missing one key element. “We know how we’re going to get them to the bottleneck when they come to town. Now, we just need to find a way to get them to come to town on our own terms when we’re ready.” The more Trammel thought about it, the more it made sense. “And I think I’ve got just the man for the job.”

  CHAPTER 27

  “I ain’t goin’,” Elmer protested.

  “Can you give me one good reason why not?” Smith, the liveryman, yelled at him. “Hell, I’m giving you the best horse I’ve got, plus free care for your own animal for a whole month.”

  Trammel decided to sweeten the deal. “Not to mention twenty dollars for entertainment purposes once you get to Laramie. Twenty dollars can go a long way in a town like that.”

  “Can go a long way to gettin’ me killed,” Elmer protested. He looked at Smith. “If it’s so easy, why don’t you go?”

  “I’ll be glad to,” the black man said. “Just run the livery for me while I’m gone.” He stuck a crooked finger in Elmer’s face. “Which means no drinking and mucking out the stalls every day. And tending to the—”

  Elmer waved him down. “You made your point, damn it. I’ve never been one for work, and I’m not gonna start now at this age.” He looked up at Trammel. “Was that forty dollars you said in entertainment money?”

  “I said twenty dollars.” Trammel looked at the darkening sky. “But it can be forty if you get to Laramie immediately and start telling your story now.”

  Elmer rubbed his filthy hands on ragged pants. “And all I’ve gotta do is walk into the Molly Malone and tell ’em that I left here on account of bein’ scared. How Mr. Hagen’s men swooped into town and took the sheriff and Adam up to his ranch.”

  “And how you lit out of town the second you saw us bound and dumped into a wagon,” Trammel repeated for his benefit. He had created a simple story Elmer would have no problem repeating when drunk. A story that should reach Lucien Clay and Jesse Alcott fairly quickly. A story both men could find believable enough to ride to town to see for themselves. “You don’t know how many we killed, just that both of us are wounded. You saw blood, that’s all you know.”

  “And then I’m out of it, right?” Elmer said. “No gunplay for me?”

  Trammel placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’re free and clear, Elmer, with forty dollars in your pocket. A man could have himself a good time in Laramie on forty dollars.”

  The allure of whiskey and women was too great for the old man to resist. He slapped his legs as he stood and yelled to Smith. “My horse, good man! I have an appointment in Laramie!”

  * * *

  The next morning, Trammel slid his Winchester into the saddle scabbard and tied the three remaining rifles into a bundle on the back of his saddle. It wasn’t the sturdiest set up, but it should hold until he got to Stone Gate outside the Hagen ranch. He had cleaned and loaded the rifles before he had gone to sleep the night before. His saddlebags were already filled with as many boxes of ammunition as he could carry. He doubted he would get close to using even one box, but just having them gave him hope. The plan he and Hawkeye had cooked up depended on how convincing Elmer could be. Relying on him to be a mouthy drunk in a bar was hardly a stretch for the old codger. But being believable was. Trammel hoped his tale would prove too rich for Alcott and Clay to resist. At this point, it was the only plan they had.

  So deep in his own thoughts, Trammel had not heard Emily Downs enter the barn. She had a heavy wool blanket draped around her shoulders and her eyes were still puffy from sleep. When she got closer, he could tell they were not puffy from sleep, but from tears.

  He had never seen her cry before. “What’s wrong?”

  “I know what you’re doing, Buck, and I’m begging you not to do it.”

  Upsetting her was the last thing he wanted to do, which was why he was trying to get into position so early in the morning. He had hoped to leave before she woke. The image of her crying was not the last memory he wanted to have of her. “I’m not doing anything. I’m just staking out some positions in case the Pinkerton men come. Hawkeye’s feeling better and—”

  “He’d already told me about his plan before he went to see you last night,” Emily said. “He was worried you might think it was a silly idea, and he didn’t want you laughing at him. That poor boy idolizes you so much, he doesn’t know his stupid plan is liable to get you killed.”

  He hadn’t known Hawkeye had talked to Emily, but in a way, he was glad he had. It saved him from bearing the burden of lying to her. “His plan isn’t stupid, Emily. It’s the best chance I have of stopping Alcott and his gunmen without putting the town in any more danger than it already is. We’ve been damned lucky that no one has been hurt or killed in any of these dustups yet, and I want to keep it that way.”

  “By getting yourself killed in the rocks by the Hagen ranch?” she cried. “Like some damned goat? If Alcott’s men don’t shoot you from one side, Hagen’s men will shoot you from the other.”

  “Hagen’s got no quarrel with me anymore,” Trammel said, trying to ease her mind. “If he was going to come after me, he would have done it yesterday after I arrested Bookman.”

  “He’s had a grudge against you for months. For siding with Adam over him. For not genuflecting every time he walked into a room. You’ll be in an impossible position up there, Buck, and I don’t want you killed in some kind of cross fire. You’re too important to the town for that.” She threw her arms around him and pulled herself tight to him. “You’re too important to me.” Her embrace warmed him against the cold Wyoming morning air.

  “I’m not going out there to get killed. I’m going out there because it’s the best chance I’ve got to live. And Hawkeye’s plan is sound, Emily. I wouldn’t be doing it if I thought otherwise.”

  Her voice was muffled as she spoke into his coat. “If it works.”

  “If it works,” he agreed. “And it will work, I promise you.”

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  He tried to make her smile. He needed that last memory of her before he rode off to whatever fate awaited him at Stone Gate. “If it doesn’t, then you’ll just have to patch me up after it’s all over. You’ve been giving Adam a lot of attention lately. I could be forgiven for being jealous.”

  She pulled away from him, laughing through the tears. “I’ll never forgive you if you go and get shot on me, Buck Trammel. I don’t want to be a widow before I’ve even had the chance to get married again.”

  He gently raised her head and kissed her as softly and tenderly as he knew how. He kissed her as if it was for the last time, because they both knew it may very well be.

  He reluctantly broke off the kiss. “You know how many people have been trying to kill me since I got to town. That doesn’t even count all the times before. What makes you think someone’s going to be able to do it now?”

  “I hope I never have to find out. I know no amount of begging from me will make you stay, so if you’re still of a mind to go, you might as well go.”

  Knowing his gear was all packed, Trammel slid his foot into the stirrup and swung himself up into the saddle. He had not planned on saying a formal good-bye, so he was not prepared to say anything special. He wanted to tell her he loved her. He wanted to thank her for giving him a home and for being the closest thing to a family he had known in years. He wanted to say a lot of things to her, but everything sounded like a good-bye and he could not bear to say good-bye to her. Not now. Not ever. He dare not even think it, because thinking about it could make it real, almost as real as saying it.

  “Check in on Adam for me,” he asked her as the mount moved toward the open b
arn doors. “I’ll be back before supper.”

  He touched the brim of his hat the same way he had seen Hagen do it dozens of times before, and rode toward Main Street and the road up to the Hagen Ranch.

  He did not look back. He did not dare.

  * * *

  It was already well past sunrise by the time Jesse Alcott and his men had made it to Blackstone.

  Alcott had made a point of riding ahead of the column of mercenaries. He imagined the men thought him a martinet for doing so, but he did not care what they thought. He only cared that they obeyed his orders when the time came. And he had a feeling that time was at hand.

  Even if everything that old drunk Elmer had spouted off about in the Molly Malone the previous evening had been an exaggeration, there was enough truth in his story to show it was the time to strike Blackstone and strike it hard. They may not get the chance at taking down Trammel, both Hagen men, and the Hagen ranch all at the same time. If they were successful, then Lucien Clay’s dreams of controlling the territory would be that much stronger upon their return to Laramie.

  Alcott held up his hand, bringing his column to a halt as they approached Main Street.

  He brought his horse around to address the men behind him. “Looks like we are finally here, gentlemen. As I told you before we left Laramie, I have no idea what we will be riding into, either here in town or up at the ranch, so you must keep your eyes open and your hands close to your guns at all times. I don’t think we will face much resistance, but you never know what kind of courage a man like Trammel can inspire in some of the more gullible men. I have absolutely no intention of getting shot by a storekeeper from Blackstone, and I hope all of you have the same ambition.”

  The men surprised him by laughing at his rare attempt at humor. “Follow me and keep your eyes open. If you can, call out before you shoot. I don’t want to start a fight yet if we can avoid it.”

  Alcott dug his heels into his horse’s flanks and rode down Main Street at a trot. His men followed in two columns of six. He enjoyed the looks on the faces of the townspeople as the Pinkerton men rode by. He knew they were a sight to behold. All of them were large, sturdy men clad in gray dusters and bowlers. They clearly were not from these parts. They had not come to be reasonable or friendly. They had the look of danger about them, a look Alcott was all too happy to cultivate.

  His eyes swept back and forth across both sides of the thoroughfare as they rode, watchful for any pistols or rifles aimed in their direction. But mostly, it was just shopkeepers looking up from wagon beds and old biddies interrupting their gossip session to watch the thirteen armed men ride into their town.

  Alcott brought his mount to a halt in front of the jailhouse. The front door was closed, as were the shutters. He wondered if Trammel had been taken prisoner like the old drunk had said or if he had decided to barricade himself in the jail with Somerset—if the man was even still alive—in the hopes of brokering some kind of peace. But as the spy had failed to meet them at the predetermined time in Laramie, the man had already outlived his usefulness and his life was forfeit. Trammel could do with him as he wished, as long as Trammel died in the process.

  Alcott motioned for his men to spread out as he dismounted and tied his horse to the hitching rail. He had just stepped up onto the boardwalk when the jailhouse door opened inward.

  Alcott’s pistol was in his hand before a sleepy, gangly young man of about twenty stood in the doorway. A bandage had been wrapped around his head and a deputy’s star pinned on his shirt.

  The boy looked at the pistol in Alcott’s hand as he stifled a yawn. “What can I do for you, mister? And be quick about it, because I’d like to go back to bed.”

  Alcott pushed the door all the way inside and the young man along with it. “Where’s Trammel?”

  “You mean the sheriff?”

  Alcott was beginning to lose patience. “How many other Trammels live in town, boy?”

  The young man appeared to give it some thought. “None that I know of. As for Sheriff Trammel, he ain’t here and he ain’t been here since Mr. Hagen and his men took him and Mr. Hagen up to his ranch. And by Mr. Hagen, I mean the other Mr. Hagen. Adam, that is.”

  Alcott lowered his pistol. So the scared old rummy had been telling the truth after all. “Why the hell would Mr. Hagen do that?”

  “On account of the sheriff arresting Mr. Bookman, I suppose,” Hawkeye told him. “And for letting Mr. Hagen get shot on account of that bounty put out on both of them. And by Mr. Hagen, I still mean the other Mr. Hagen. Adam. Got shot in his shoulder. The left one I believe.” He scratched his head. “Or was it his right? I can’t remember for certain. I got hit on the head a while back, see, so my memory ain’t what it oughta be.”

  Alcott walked to the back where the cells were and found a prisoner lying on a cot. His right arm was bandaged and his two legs looked like they were in splints. He called out to the prisoner. “You Somerset?”

  “Damned right I am,” the prisoner said. “Allan send you?”

  “He most certainly did.” Alcott looked over the man’s injuries. “Well, at least I know why you didn’t meet us when we arrived in Laramie.”

  “I’d have been there if I could’ve been,” Somerset said. “You can ask Mr. Pinkerton himself if you want to. He knows I live up to what I’m paid to do, if I can.” He looked himself over. “And obviously, I wasn’t in a position to be able to do that.”

  Alcott didn’t care about the man’s competencies, only about what he had learned while he was in Trammel’s custody. “You have any idea where Trammel is?”

  “Heard a scuffle out there yesterday,” Somerset said. “Lots of screaming and hollering. Then I didn’t hear a thing until that idiot out there came in to take away my chamber pot in the night. I usually see Trammel at least once a day, or hear him, but there’s been nothing since that scuffle.”

  Alcott found this news most encouraging. “And what about Adam Hagen’s condition?”

  “Haven’t heard from that loudmouth in over a week, by my counting,” Somerset said. “Lost his right arm, from what I’ve been able to gather back here.”

  Alcott had heard the same thing in the week since the shootings, then from Elmer and the deputy. He imagined Somerset was the most believable, as he was the only one on-site and the most sober. Alcott was heartened to hear the rumor had some validation.

  Realizing Trammel probably wasn’t hiding in the building, Alcott tucked away his pistol. “Rest easy, Somerset. I’ll see to it you’re taken back to Laramie to receive proper attention for your wounds.” He walked back out to the jailhouse boardwalk, ignoring Hawkeye on the way. “I need two of you to fetch a wagon. Buy it if you have to, then take Mr. Somerset in there back to Laramie. Set him up with a doctor.”

  “Ain’t he a Pinkerton man?” one of the men asked. “Like we used to be?”

  “Why not just shoot him?” asked another. “He didn’t warn us about Blackstone like he was supposed to. Made us ride in here blind.”

  Alcott saw the insubordination he had feared beginning to raise its ugly head. “This man is one of Mr. Pinkerton’s favorite operatives. If we send him back to Chicago in one piece, it may foster good feelings toward us from our former employer. Good feelings that may work in our favor in the near future.” He felt his temper rise within him and got hold of it before it got completely away from him. “But for now, you’re doing it because I told you to do it, so get cracking.” He pointed at two random men. “Both of you! Now!”

  The two men traded glances before riding off in search of a wagon to borrow or steal.

  Alcott knew that left him with only ten men, which should be more than enough to undertake a visit to the Hagen Ranch. Even twenty farmhands were no match for his men. “As for the rest of you,” he said to the ten men remaining, “we will ride north to the Blackstone Ranch, where we believe Buck Trammel and Adam Hagen are being held by none other than King Charles himself.”

  “You got a plan about
what we’ll do once we get there, Mr. Alcott?” one man asked. “We came ready to hit a town. A ranch is another thing entirely.”

  “Lots of land,” said another. “Lots of ranch hands, too.”

  Alcott looked directly at the man, a former Kansas City thug he recalled being called Ty, though the rest of his name eluded the former Pinkerton man at the moment.

  “Are you saying you’re cowed by a bunch of cowpunchers, Ty?” Alcott had to admit he enjoyed the irony.

  “No,” Ty answered. “I just like to make sure I know what I’m riding into. We had a plan for killing a one-armed gambler and a sheriff in a sleepy town in the middle of nowhere. Going up against a ranch full of armed, able-bodied men is a different sort of fight and requires a different sort of plan besides riding up there and hoping for the best.”

  “It’s not as easy as just riding up there,” said a man he remembered being called George. He remembered it because it was his last name. “We need to ride in slow on account of there being no element of surprise. And you need to know who’s going where so we don’t have any gaps in our line. Cowpunchers or no, they’re men with guns who know how to use them.”

  “You think about any of that before you decided to have us just ride up there, Mr. Alcott?” Ty asked.

  Alcott knew this was not simply a matter of insubordination. This was the men’s way of testing him to see if he knew what he was doing. To see if he could be trusted. These men had never ridden with him before and their only experience with him was a betrayal of their employer. True, they had decided to follow him, but if they were going to continue to follow him, they would need a reason.

  They were all on equal footing, equally hunted in the eyes of Mr. Pinkerton, so if Alcott wanted to remain the top dog in the pack, he was going to have to fight for it. Or at least prove he knew how to do more than sniff out an opportunity and betray a confidence.

  “Of course I planned for this contingency,” he lied. “We always knew we would have to go up against Charles Hagen eventually, so this comes as no surprise. The house is usually lightly guarded, if at all. I will ride ahead and enter the ranch under the guise of a visitor. As Trammel and Adam Hagen have no allies on the property, I doubt the house will be under guard. Once I’m there, I’ll gauge the situation and act accordingly. Once I am inside the house, I’ll expect you men to ride soon after in a loose circle whereupon you will form a loose arc facing the fields. Any cowboys coming to their master’s aid will naturally give pause once they see ten uniformed men around their employer’s home. If anyone gives you cause, feel free to shoot them.”