The Dark Sunrise

by Terrence McCauley

  Whatever anger Billy had been holding onto seemed to evaporate as he patted Adair’s flank. “In that case, it’ll be my pleasure.”

  Mackey slapped him on the shoulder and set Adair moving. To Joshua, he said, “That was a sound tactical maneuver back there, Deputy. I’m impressed.”

  Mackey could almost feel the young man blush as Mackey rode away. Youth was not often good for much, but in this instance, he had put it to good use. He heard young Sandborne ask Billy, “Say, what’s an ‘ego’?”

  * * *

  As Mackey rode alongside Lynch behind the prison wagon, the marshal liked how Lynch did things. The prisoners were guarded by four men with rifles. Every rooftop had at least one rifleman looking down at the street and, Mackey imagined, at all the windows, too.

  “Fine setup, Lynch,” Mackey complimented him. “I’m impressed.”

  “Thanks.”

  Mackey realized the deputy would be a tougher nut to crack than he had thought. “What street are we riding on now?”

  “Broadway. The big brown building up ahead is the courthouse. The smaller white building across from it is the jail. A tunnel underneath links the two. We’ll be keeping the prisoners there until trial.”

  He decided to try to soften up Lynch a bit with small talk. “Where are you from, Lynch?”

  “Iowa. Place called Ames.”

  “I served with some good men from Iowa when I was in the cavalry. You in the army, Lynch?”

  “Nope. Always been a lawman. My daddy was the town marshal back home. All my family were lawmen. My grandma even filled in as one once when my granddad came down with the fever.”

  “Sounds like tin runs in your blood. How’d you wind up in Montana?”

  “On a horse.”

  Mackey shook his head. This was going to be harder than he thought. “You don’t like me too much, do you, Lynch?”

  “Let’s get one thing straight right now,” Lynch said. “I’m not a kid like that Sandborne boy back there. I know how to transport a prisoner and I know how to jail one, and I’ve gone up against more killers than you ever will, so you can stick your compliments where you’re sitting. And I don’t buy into that whole ‘Hero of Adobe Flats’ or ‘Savior of Dover Station’ business, either. Dover Station’s a shitheel burg in the middle of nowhere, and you’re not half the lawman I am. You’ve made your name shooting Indians and buffaloing drunk saddle tramps. You’ve only got this job because the papers think you’re pretty, and you’ve got some rich friends back east who like you.”

  Mackey could see Lynch was in the mood to do more than just mark his territory. “Been waiting a long time to say that, haven’t you?”

  “Damned right I have,” Lynch shot back. “Six whole months. Wouldn’t have had to say it at all if you’d been here where you belong instead of hanging your hat in that hellhole you call home. You’re responsible for an entire territory now, not just carrying out some vendetta you’ve got against one man.” He pointed at the marshal star on Mackey’s duster. “That star is supposed to mean more than that.”

  “And you don’t think I know that?”

  “Don’t seem to,” Lynch told him. “You should’ve come here to Helena as soon as you got your appointment instead of waiting for the right time to nab Grant on personal business. Your job is here, and I’ve been doing it for you for almost half a year.”

  Mackey was trying to keep hold of his temper, but Lynch was making it awfully difficult. “I’ve been reading your reports and sending you orders, Lynch. You’ve been getting my telegrams and my orders by post. Me being in Dover Station hasn’t hurt this office one bit.”

  “A man’s got to be at his job in order to do his job,” Lynch said, “especially one like this. Can’t do it by post or telegram. It’s about time you learn that.”

  “Sounds like you think you should be wearing this star instead of me.”

  “Then I guess I’m not making myself clear enough, because that’s exactly what I think. I don’t care if you don’t like it, either. I was lined up for that job until your Mr. Rice stepped in and took it from me. I lost out on something I’d waited ten years to get because of politics. Lousy politics.”

  Mackey may not have liked the tone, but he was glad everything was finally out in the open. “If you’ve been doing this job for ten years, Lynch, then you know most of law work is nothing but politics. Mr. Rice may have talked to some people on my behalf, but the man who decided to put me in this job is the president of the United States. He could’ve made me a deputy marshal under you, but he didn’t. A wise man would realize that says something about me.” He looked at Lynch. “Says something about you, too.”

  Lynch pulled up his horse short.

  Mackey brought Adair around in a half circle so he could face him.

  Lynch’s left eye twitched. “I’ll be damned if I’ll have my ability questioned by some hick with a name.”

  “And it sounds to me like you need to grow up. You’re doing a hell of a job, Lynch. I mean that. My compliments might not hold much water with you, but you’ve got them anyway. You’ve kept my family safe for weeks, and for that, I’m personally grateful.”

  “You’ve got no call to thank me for that,” Lynch said. “I’d have done that for anyone.”

  “But you did it for me, and I owe you. I’ve got plenty of faults, but ingratitude isn’t one of them.”

  Lynch looked away.

  Mackey didn’t want to hold the point any longer and took a moment to look back at the prison wagon. It had stopped in front of a squat, white granite building with a turret that Mackey knew was the famous jail he had heard so much about. It looked like drawings he had seen of medieval dungeons and knew Grant and Brenner would not be enjoying their stay there.

  He saw Lynch’s men had pulled the prisoners off the wagon, and ten riflemen walked them in through a side door. They were well trained and put Chief Edison’s men to shame.

  The courthouse was directly across the street and resembled more of a church. The brown stonework and ornate cornices reminded Mackey of some of the town houses he had seen long ago when he had been assigned to a general’s staff in Boston and New York. A massive clock tower rose high into the clear blue sky, and he could see it was now half-past ten in the morning.

  It was too pretty a morning for such an ugly conversation, but it was a conversation that needed to be had.

  Lynch surprised him by saying, “I won’t work for you, Mackey. I resign my commission as of today.”

  “And I reject your resignation.”

  Lynch’s eyes narrowed. “After everything I’ve just said?”

  “You just aired six months of resentment,” Mackey told him. “You’re disappointed and angry, and you’ve got a right to be bitter about it. You don’t respect me—yet—but I learned a long time ago respect has to be earned if it’s going to mean anything. I would’ve thought ill of you if you weren’t at least a bit sore about what happened and how it happened. You’ve done a fine job here, and I want you to keep on doing it. Not for me, but for this territory.”

  Mackey looked around at the bustling town. “Statehood’s coming, and it’s coming soon. A lot of people think that’ll make our lives easier out here, but it won’t. If anything, it’ll make it harder, at least for a while. I’m going to need good men to help me keep order when things change. Good men like you. That’s why I’m refusing your resignation. And it’s why I think you’re man enough to at least give me the chance to earn your respect.”

  Mackey held out his hand to Lynch. “Are you with me? Are you with Montana?”

  Lynch looked at the hand for a long while before he shook it. “I’ll give you a month, Marshal. One month and then we’ll see.”

  “A month’s more than I’ll need.”

  The two men resumed their ride to the courthouse together.

  Lynch said, “Judge Forester is anxious to see you. Said he wants to see you in his chambers after you get the prisoners settled. I wouldn’t exp
ect him to be friendly, though. He likes you even less than I do.”

  “He’s a judge,” Mackey said. “That’s his right.”

  “Since it looks like I’ll be sticking around for a while,” Lynch said, “what’s your first order, Marshal?”

  “My first order is for you to keep doing the excellent job you’ve been doing, Lynch. If Judge Forester is the kind of man I’ve heard about, I’m sure he’ll agree.”

  “And your second order?” Lynch asked.

  “Loyalty,” Mackey said without looking at him. “Absolute loyalty. If you’ve got a question, ask it. If you’ve got a better way of doing something, suggest it, but the decision is ultimately mine and mine alone. You can take credit for the good and blame me for the bad. I don’t care either way.”

  He saw Lynch stiffen in the saddle. “Anything else.”

  “Just one thing. Everything you just said to me and about me stays out here. But if you ever talk to me like that again or run me down to anyone behind my back, especially to the men, I’ll beat you to death. Wherever you are, no matter how many men you have with you, I’ll leave you where I find you. Is that clear, Deputy?”

  Lynch smiled. “It’s clear you’ll try.”

  “I don’t try, mister. I do.” He heeled Adair into a trot toward the courthouse.

  Lynch followed.

  CHAPTER 9

  After seeing Grant and Brenner locked in separate cells of the basement jail, Mackey had Lynch bring him up to Judge Forester’s chambers on the first floor.

  The building had the same ornate wood-and-stone work that Grant’s Municipal Building featured, but on a much larger scale. Where that building seemed like an imitation, the Lewis and Clark Building had the feel of the real thing. The halls were lined with marble and the walls adorned with wood paneling. Mackey noted the sound of their boots on the marble floor did not echo as loudly as they did back in the monstrosity Grant had designed.

  Lynch pointed to a set of doors at the left side of the hall. “Those are our offices in there. Ought to be easy enough to find. It’s got ‘U.S. Marshal, Montana Territory’ right there on the door. Entrance to the courtroom is in the middle and Judge Forester’s chambers are to the right. He’s got another door inside the courtroom that leads to the same place, but that door’s usually locked when court’s not in session, which it ain’t now. You can head in over there, and his clerk will see to you.”

  The surroundings were a bit ornate for Mackey’s taste, but he could get used to them. He would have to, since he intended on spending more time here now that Grant was out of the way. “I take it you’ve been using the marshal’s office for the past six months or so.”

  “You take it correct. I’ll move back to my old office as soon as possible.”

  Mackey was glad he did not have to tell Lynch to do just that. He might have allowed him to keep the office, but after their exchange on Broadway, he decided his subordinate had to learn his true place in the pecking order.

  Mackey broke off and entered the judge’s chambers, quietly shutting the door behind him.

  A fastidious-looking clerk with thick glasses popped up from behind his desk when Mackey introduced himself.

  “I’m Mackey here to see the judge.”

  “The judge is enjoying a late breakfast, but asked that you be brought in as soon as you arrive. Please wait here.”

  Mackey looked around the clerk’s office while the young man disappeared down a hallway and knocked on a door. Every square inch of shelf and desk space was cluttered with books and ledgers and papers. He had no idea how someone could keep track of it all and was glad he did not have to do it. If the marshal’s office was in similar condition, he would have to make changes and quickly.

  The clerk reappeared and beckoned Mackey to follow him. The marshal removed his hat and stepped through the swinging gate that led to the inner sanctum of the office.

  Judge Adam Forester’s chambers were even more cluttered than the outer office. Every surface, including couches, tables, and chairs, was overflowing with stacks of paper and law books. He imagined a stray ash from one of Billy’s cigarettes would incinerate the place in a hot minute.

  The only semblance of order was the judge’s desk, where a small space had been kept clear for the judge to eat and work. He was eating now, though all traces of whatever he had been eating had just been consumed.

  Judge Adam Forester was a heavy man Mackey guessed to be at least three hundred pounds. His bald head bore a silver crown of unruly hair that spilled down into muttonchops that stopped just short of his chin. His heavy face made his deep-set eyes look even more so and his round, reddish nose bore the evidence of his reputation as a man who liked his drink.

  A dirty white napkin had been tucked into his collar to serve as a sort of bib to prevent his meal from staining his shirt.

  Judge Forester looked up at Mackey when the clerk closed the door behind him. “Well, look at what providence has sent me. The prodigal marshal. The great Aaron Mackey has finally seen fit to grace my chambers with his presence. You’ll forgive me for not rising to my feet to bow, but as you can see,” he gestured with chubby hands at his plate, “I’m currently indisposed. I find subjugation is difficult on the digestion.”

  Mackey was beginning to think everyone in Helena was lining up to give him a hard time. But given Forester’s status, he decided to give the jurist a little more leeway than he had afforded Lynch. “I can come back later if you’re busy, your honor.”

  “And run the risk of you disappearing for another six months?” Judge Forester dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. “Perish the thought. With your prisoners now delivered, I fear you might take it upon yourself to rush back to the Station of Dover, where I would have to wait even longer to be granted an audience with the Hero of Adobe Flats.”

  The judge motioned toward one of the chairs on the other side of his desk. “Pick whichever one has the least amount of papers and move them so you can take a seat. We have much to discuss today, you and I.”

  Mackey shifted a pile of papers from the chair on the left and set them on the floor. He took off his hat before he sat down.

  The judge untucked his bib and patted his mouth with it. “Forgive me for being flustered, but it isn’t every day a man in my position finds himself in the presence of such lofty company. Criminals and villains, yes, but rarely a hero such as yourself, much less a savior.” He looked down at his empty plate. “Why, I’ve heard so much about your exploits, perhaps you could refill my plate with loaves and fishes, much like that other savior from so long ago.”

  Mackey realized he was gripping the brim of his hat too tightly and stopped. “You one of those judges who’s cranky when he’s hungover or are you always like this?”

  Forester stopped smiling. “I like your tone even less than I like your lateness in attending to your duties here in Helena. You forget yourself, sir.”

  “And you forget that the only reason either of us are in Helena is thanks to one man.” Mackey tapped the star on his duster. “The same man who got me this star and got you that black robe hanging on the back of your door.”

  “Ah yes. Our dear friend Mr. Rice.” Judge Forester’s chair creaked as he sat back and folded his hands across his belly. “Did he tell you to give me his regards? He’s been sending me letters, too, you know. Veiled threats, more like it. He wants me to go easy on you about your absence from your duties here in Helena.”

  He picked up a bundle of telegrams and letters tied in string. “In fact, I have them all right here.” And promptly dropped them in a bucket beside his desk. “You can see how much I value them.”

  Mackey enjoyed watching the judge’s small display of power. It was easy to have contempt for a man who was almost three thousand miles away. “Pride goeth before the fall.”

  “Only if practicality fails to lead at all, young man.” The judge wagged a finger at Mackey. “I keep forgetting you’re not just another frontier tough with a star on hi
s chest and a gun on your hip. You’re an educated man. A West Pointer, no less, who knows his history and probably just enough of the law to be dangerous.”

  “I’ve picked up a few things,” Mackey admitted.

  “You’ve been taught in the ways of war and strategy and how to fight the red man,” Forester went on. “That is why I am sure you must know a lost cause when you see one.”

  Forester’s ability to dance around an issue with words was beginning to make Mackey’s head hurt. “I’m used to fighting an enemy I can see, your honor, and I can’t argue against a point you won’t make. So, let’s quit talking around things and put a pin in the map so we can figure out which direction where headed.”

  “That suits me just fine.” The jurist folded his hands on the desk. “I hope you’re prepared for a bitter disappointment, Marshal, because you have come an awfully long way and gone through a significant amount of trouble only to learn that the justice you seek is far more elusive than you imagined.”

  Mackey felt a coldness begin to spread in his belly. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, sir, that I have no intention of finding James Grant or Alfred Brenner guilty of anything, much less of the charges you plan on bringing against them in my courtroom this week.”

  Mackey almost came out of his chair, but controlled himself. “Every single one of those charges is valid. Every affidavit is completely legal.”

  “Yes,” Forester said. “You’re surprisingly thorough for a frontier tough, but my judgment stands. They’re not worth the paper they’re printed on.”

  Mackey tossed his hat on the desk before he crushed it. “You’re throwing them out? All of them?”

  Judge Forester took his time answering it. “The charges you’ve made against Grant and Brenner are tenuous at best, even if, by some miracle, they all happen to be true. Brenner refutes the confession you say he gave freely. He claims you made him sign that statement under great duress.”

  The coldness in Mackey’s gut now stabbed him there. Yes, he had put a lot of guesswork into writing up Brenner’s confession, but the man had signed it freely. “That is a sworn statement he made backed up by witnesses.”