The Dark Sunrise

by Terrence McCauley

  The Clydesdale that Cy Wallach had brought all the way from St. Louis pulled the funeral wagon carrying Underhill’s coffin. Jerry Halstead was in the wagon box, steering the big animal and its morbid cargo down Front Street.

  Doc Ridley followed at a fair distance, his Bible clutched closely to his chest. A large number of townspeople filling the width of Front Street brought up the rear. They sang a warbly version of “Amazine Grace” as they made the pilgrimage up to the cemetery. What they lacked in tone, they made up for with enthusiasm.

  The townspeople slowed their pace as they neared the jail in deference to Mackey and Billy, who took their cue to join the procession behind Doc Ridley. Mackey looked over the crowd for a familiar face but failed to see any. He did not recognize any of the men from the mob from the night before but was sure at least some of them were there. They would not try to lynch Grant and Brenner now, though. That moment had passed.

  The big horse hauling Underhill took the steep incline up to Cemetery Hill with ease. When it came to a stop, Doc Ridley continued walking to the grave that had been dug alongside one of the few gnarled trees that occupied the hill of the dead.

  Mackey and Billy stepped forward and opened the tailgate before pulling the coffin out. Four men Mackey did not recognize fell in behind them and helped lift the coffin onto their shoulders. The six fell into step as they carried Underhill’s remains to the grave and lowered the coffin onto the sturdy leather straps that had been placed across the hole before solemnly backing away.

  The crowd that had followed the procession filled in, taking up the entirety of the Cemetery Hill. Even the area that had come to be called Mackey’s Garden was full of spectators. That part of the cemetery had been so named due to the number of men who had been buried there back when Mackey and Billy had still been the law in town.

  Billy made his way through the gathering crowd to stand beside Mackey. “Fine turnout. Didn’t think Underhill was this popular.”

  “Dead men always are,” Mackey said.

  He may not have recognized many of the faces in the crowd but noticed one man in particular who was standing behind them. He was a tall, fair-haired man who had stepped forward to carry Underhill’s coffin from the wagon. Mackey decided he would make a point to find out who he was after the ceremony.

  Doc Ridley eyed the eastern mountain ridge, waiting until the top edge of the sun rose above it before beginning the ceremony. When it did, he began, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to deliver the remains of Walter Standish Underhill back to the dirt from whence all of us were made. A fine, yet flawed man, like many of us. But unlike any of us, this man gave his life to protect this town and its people. Walter Underhill’s death came far too soon and at the hands of a murderous horde that has descended upon this gentle community like a plague of locusts from the days of old.”

  A ripple of murmurs went through the crowd just as Mackey heard something pop behind him.

  Mackey and Billy grabbed for their pistols as they turned to face the sound. He thought it might have been one of the Hancock men trying to disrupt the service. He was surprised to find it was only a man with a camera on a tripod taking a photo of the service.

  He had not known the town had a photographer, much less one who would be at Underhill’s funeral. Charles Everett Harrington, the publisher of The Dover Station Record, stood beside the photographer and quickly motioned for the lawmen to turn back toward the ceremony.

  Doc Ridley read from both testaments of the Bible before closing the Good Book with finality and holding it once more to his chest. He closed his eyes as he raised his face to the rising sun.

  “Into your gentle hands, O Lord, we commend the spirit of this faithful servant. May you receive him with kindness and mercy. Amen.”

  The crowd answered in kind.

  Mackey, Billy, and the other pallbearers took the cue to grab the thick leather straps holding Underhill’s coffin in place before slowly lowering the casket into the earth.

  Police Chief Edison barked out a command, and his men snapped to attention. They brought their rifles to their shoulders, aimed at the sky, and fired three times. Old Underhill got himself a twenty-one-gun salute from the men he had once commanded.

  Stifled sobs rose from the crowd as people began to line up to shovel spades of dirt from the pile beside the grave onto Underhill’s coffin. Mackey and Billy had volunteered to fill in the grave once everyone had left, but Chief Edison insisted his men would do the honors. Given the number of mourners, Mackey figured Edison’s boys would not have much work to do when all was said and done.

  He turned when he felt a hand on his arm and saw the tall blond man holding out his hand to him. “Forgive me, Marshal, but we haven’t had the chance to meet yet. I’m Paul Bishop, Mr. Van Dorn’s replacement here in town. Mr. Rice told me to send you his regards.”

  In the wake of Underhill’s sudden passing, Mackey had forgotten about the telegram Mr. Rice had sent him to inform him that Bishop was coming to town.

  He shook the man’s hand, surprised by the strength of his grip. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bishop. This is my deputy, Billy Sunday.”

  Some people paused before shaking the black lawman’s hand, but Mackey was glad to see Bishop shook it eagerly. “An honor to meet you both, even under such sad and unfortunate circumstances. I never had the pleasure to meet Chief Underhill, but I understand he was quite an impressive man.”

  “Depends on your definition of impressive,” Billy said. “But I suppose he was a better man than most.”

  Bishop smiled. “I suppose it takes all kinds to maintain law and order in this part of the world. But I don’t need to tell either of you that. Both of you enjoy stellar reputations and not just from what Mr. Rice has told me about you, either.”

  “Depends on who you ask.” Mackey was troubled by Bishop’s friendly manner and slight appearance. He looked like a good wind might blow him over, which would not serve him well in Dover Station. But his handshake said there was more to him than that. For the town’s sake, Mackey hoped so. “Mr. Rice tell you about what you’re up against out here, Mr. Bishop? Montana’s a long way from New York City.”

  “Call me Paul, please, preferably Bishop. I rose from the lowest rung of the banking ladder, where last names are barked out like commands to a dog. And although I might not have your skills as a lawman, I have other strengths that will serve me well here. And I can assure you that Mr. Rice painted quite a vivid picture before I agreed to take this assignment.”

  “The Hancocks are worse than even Mr. Rice could say,” Billy added. “Grant gave them free run of the town for a long time now. They won’t take too kindly to anyone who tries to put a stop to it.”

  Bishop looked toward Chief Edison, whose men remained standing guard on either side of Underhill’s grave. “I’ve been told the new police chief is against the Hancock presence in town.”

  “He is,” Mackey told him, “but he was one of Grant’s gunmen before that. He can probably be bought if the price is high enough. If the Hancocks take a run at him, there’s a good chance he’ll throw in with them against you.”

  “All the better,” Bishop said. “Besides, I never trust a truly incorruptible man, Marshal. And I have a feeling my company’s pockets are significantly deeper than the Hancocks’. Besides, I have permission to send for a small army of Pinkerton men should the need arise.”

  Mackey had only just met Bishop, but he found himself liking him already. “Then maybe you’ve got a chance after all, Bishop. You’ve got a good town here. Could be a great one with the right people running it.”

  “And I know I can rely on your counsel should I fall short of the task.” A new thought seemed to come to Bishop. “I understand you’re due to take Grant and former chief Brenner to Helena on this morning’s train.”

  Mackey checked his pocket watch again. It was just before eight. He was glad Doc Ridley had been short-winded for once. “We’ll be bringing them to the station w
ithin the hour.”

  “Good,” Bishop said. “Please tell Judge Forester that Mr. Rice sends his regards to him, as well, and knows he has a bright future ahead of him as statehood approaches. If you find him too obtuse to understand what that means, feel free to tell him plainly that Mr. Rice wants Grant and Brenner hanging by the end of the month. He will be terribly disappointed if they don’t.”

  Mackey had never smiled at a funeral before, but this was an exception. “We’ll be sure to let him know.”

  “Oh, he already does.” Bishop held out his hand to him. “But I’m sure you gentlemen can make a more convincing impression than any telegram or letter ever could.”

  After shaking hands with both of them, he bid them good day. Mackey and Billy watched the lanky banker manage the uneven ground of the graveyard with surprising ease.

  “Looks like there might be more to that man than I thought,” Billy admitted.

  But Mackey was not so optimistic. “Talk’s cheap where the Hancocks are concerned. Bishop might change his tune when they start pointing guns his way.”

  “At least Grant will be dead by then. That ought to take some of the fight out of the Hancocks.”

  “Only if they’re smart enough to know they’ve lost.” He slid his watch back into his pocket. “Come on. We’ve got a train to catch.”

  Both men paused to turn to face Underhill’s grave and touched their brims before walking down the hill. They knew the Texan would have appreciated the gesture.

  CHAPTER 4

  When they reached the funeral wagon, they found Jerry Halstead leaning against it, waiting for them. His father’s Anglo features and his mother’s Mexican blood made some men mistake him for an Indian at first glance. His longish black hair did nothing to dampen the impression. But when he spoke, his accent was pure Texan.

  “You two old ladies finally ready to go?”

  “Sentimental,” Billy observed. “Just like your old man.”

  “No reason to mourn him,” young Halstead said. “From what I’ve heard, that bastard is a good chunk of the reason why Grant got so big in the first place.”

  Mackey knew he had gotten that from Billy. He had not been in the mood to debate the point at the jailhouse and he was certainly not in the mood to debate it at the man’s graveside.

  “We just planted the poor bastard. Let the dirt settle on him a while before you go dancing on his grave. Bring the wagon over to the jail. I want to get Grant and Brenner settled on that train before nine.”

  Jerry shrugged as he climbed up into the box. “Don’t know why I’ve got to be sad. Hell, I never even knew him. Just drove his coffin is all.”

  Halstead released the hand brake and jigged the big Clydesdale alert as he brought the large horse around for the slow walk down the steep hill.

  Billy laughed as they walked down to the jail. “Like I said. Just like his old man.”

  But Mackey did not laugh. In fact, he stopped in his tracks as soon as he spotted Mad Nellie Hancock and three of her kin walking up the hill in their direction.

  Billy stopped, too.

  Jerry brought the Clydesdale to a halt and threw the hand brake.

  Nellie was wearing a man’s black suit and a faded Plainsman hat to match. The three Hancock men with her were dressed like they had just come in from the field, though Mackey recognized them as bouncers from the several saloons her family now controlled in town.

  And all of them had pistols on their hips.

  Billy pulled his Colt and kept it flat against his leg.

  Mackey stood at an angle, his right foot forward as he moved his hand to his belt buckle next to the butt of the Peacemaker he wore on his belly. That way, he could draw, aim, and fire quickly if he had to.

  Behind them, he heard Jerry cock his Winchester.

  The big Clydesdale sensed a change in the air and fussed, sweeping at the dirt.

  Mad Nellie and her men stopped walking and held their hands away from themselves.

  Nellie’s smile showed teeth cracked and yellowed from years of tobacco juice and rotgut moonshine. “No need to get testy, Aaron. Me and mine are just here to pay our respects to poor ol’ Walter Underhill. That’s all.”

  Mackey’s hand stayed on his buckle. “That why you came armed?”

  “Dover’s a dangerous town these days, Marshal. Lots of people would like us to wind up in a box like your friend up on that hill.”

  Billy said, “You and yours will wind up there soon enough if you don’t clear out of town.”

  Nellie kept her hands raised as she shook her head in mock solemnity. “Now what kind of talk do you call that? Threatenin’ a lady and her kin who’ve come in peace to mourn the passin’ of a good man?”

  Mackey gripped his belt buckle a little tighter to keep himself from pulling the Peacemaker. “A good man you paid to kill.”

  “You’ve told a few people that,” Nellie said. “Now, I’ve never been much for book learnin’, and I sure as hell ain’t no lawyer, but I believe that’s what they call slander, Marshal. I could sue you for that unless, of course, you can prove it.” She winked at him. “But you can’t prove it, now can you?”

  Mackey knew she was right, but it did not make him feel any better. “I’d do a hell of a lot worse than slander you if I could. You’d be riding that train to Helena with your friends if I could make a case against you.”

  “You’ve already done enough damage, Marshal. Me and mine have had a lot of practice grieving lately on account of you.” She tilted her head toward Billy. “And that black boy you’ve got over there.”

  Mackey heard the bones in Billy’s hands crack as he gripped his Colt tighter but knew he would not draw, much less shoot. Not unless it came to that.

  Mackey said, “I had paper on Henry Hancock when I killed him, Nellie. The rest of your people died because you sent them after me. Their blood’s more on your hands than mine.”

  “You’ve got a fine imagination on you, Marshal. Why, I’m just a simple plainswoman doing the best she can to hold her family together and make sure her young ones grow up straight and strong.”

  “While running every crooked gambling parlor, saloon, and whorehouse in town,” Billy added.

  Nellie shrugged. “We fill a need. If we didn’t do it, someone else would. And it pays way better than farming ever did. Allows us to buy things. Things that help me keep my family together and strong.” Her eyes narrowed as she glared at Mackey. “Things that protect them from the likes of you.”

  Mackey did not like being threatened, especially by the likes of the Hancocks. “I hope that protection involves you trying to spring Grant and Brenner between here and Helena. We haven’t killed a Hancock man in over a month. We wouldn’t want to get rusty, would we, Billy?”

  “No, we would not,” Billy answered.

  Nellie finally dropped her façade and pointed a gnarled finger at the marshal. “Al’s last name might be Brenner, but he’s a Hancock man as much as me and mine or any of us who bear the name. You’d do best to remember that before you kill him, Mackey. And be ready to face what’s comin’ if you do.”

  “He’s on his way to getting a fair hearing in Helena,” Mackey said. “It’s up to a judge to decide if he lives or dies, not me.”

  “I hope you keep your word on that, Aaron.” Nellie took a single step forward but stopped before getting close enough to cause any of the lawmen to raise their weapons. She knew exactly how far she could push them before being shot. “I truly do. Because you and I ain’t done yet. Not by a long shot. We won’t be done until you pay for what you’ve done to me and mine. And that’s a bill that’s coming due real soon. You can count on that.”

  Billy thumbed back the hammer on his Colt but kept it at his side. “How about you trying to collect right now? Seems as good a time as any.”

  From the wagon, Jerry said, “They won’t pull, Uncle. It’s only three against three. Everyone knows the Hancocks don’t like a fair fight.”

  Mad Nellie
glared up at Jerry. “This here’s a debt that can be paid a lot of different ways, half-breed. And by a lot of people, too.” She shifted her glare to Mackey. “How’s that lovely gal of yours enjoying Helena, Marshal?”

  Mackey drew and aimed the Peacemaker at her head before he realized he had done it.

  Billy and Jerry aimed their guns at the two Hancock men before they could pull.

  Nellie kept her hands away from her side as she took another small step forward and leaned into the Peacemaker’s barrel. “Go ahead, Aaron. Shoot. Blow my damned fool head off. No one will blame you.” She inclined her head toward the mourners on the hill. “You’ll have plenty of witnesses that’ll say I had it coming. But you’d better bring them black clothes with you to Helena if you do, because you’ll be going to another funeral. Two, in fact. Your lady’s and that loudmouthed old man of yours.”

  Mackey took a step forward and pressed the barrel against Nellie’s head hard enough to make her take a step back. He saw nothing else. He heard nothing else. All he saw was Nellie’s yellow, jagged grin.

  All he knew was rage.

  “Aaron.”

  It was Billy’s voice that pierced the darkness.

  “Aaron,” Billy repeated. “Now’s not the time. Not like this.”

  Mackey shoved Nellie backward with the barrel and lowered the pistol. “If she’s got so much as a cold, I’ll ride back here and end you myself.”

  “That part’s up to you, Aaron.” Nellie laughed before she hawked and spat on the ground between them. “Have a safe trip to Helena, boys.” She wiped her mouth on the back of her sleeve. “But be careful. I hear that big city can be a mighty dangerous place. Busy, too. Never know who you might meet down there.”

  She beckoned her kin to follow her, and they moved wide around the three lawmen.

  Mackey turned to watch them leave. “You and yours ever been to Cemetery Hill before, Nellie?”

  The woman stopped but didn’t turn around. “Can’t say as we have. We always brought the men you’ve killed back to Hancock for a proper Christian burial.”