But there was no debate that Grant had managed to amass a lot of influence since Mr. Rice’s partner, Silas Van Dorn, hired him to manage the operations of the Dover Station Company. The reasons for Grant’s hiring were as obscure as his past, and Mackey did not care how he got the job, only that he had it now. Grant had quickly established a reputation for not only setting aggressive construction deadlines, but beating them.
As he watched the ironworkers gently carry Ross down to the street, Mackey began to wonder if Grant’s ambition had caused Eddows to snap. He wondered how many other men like Eddows were ready to fall.
In Mackey’s experience, ambitious men needed to be watched.
Grant held his hat aloft as he bellowed from the jailhouse boardwalk. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have just learned that Jay Ross is alive and expected to make a full recovery. Let us have three cheers for Jay Ross. Hip-hip. Hooray!”
Underhill and the two riflemen had formed an arc in front of Grant to keep the crowd back as they cheered.
When the echo of the last hurrah died away, Grant pointed up at Mackey on the scaffold. “And three cheers for the brave man who saved that good man’s life. The Hero of Adobe Flats! The Savior of Dover Station! Sheriff Aaron Mackey! Hip-hip.”
The crowd chanted “hooray” without any prompting from Grant.
Mackey saw Billy taking in the whole scene from the doorway of the jailhouse. The black man smiled up at Mackey, touched the brim of his hat, and went inside to make a fresh pot of coffee.
Grant waited for the crowd to quiet before continuing his speech. “Now, I’m well aware that you good people have been tolerant of all the changes the Dover Station Company has been making here in town. But change isn’t easy. It never is. But we’re more than halfway through our initial phase of work and that much closer to undoing all of the damage Darabont left in his wake when he attacked this fair town. This morning I received a telegram from Mr. Rice in New York City, wherein he gave me permission to inform you of some wonderful news. Later this week, the Dover Station Mining Company will be reopening the living quarters at the mines, the Dover Station Lumber Company will reopen their living quarters, and the Dover Station Cattle and Land Company will be hiring fifty more cowboys, farmers, and more.”
Hats were thrown in the air, and the people clapped and cheered.
Grant spoke over them again, struggling to make his voice heard over the euphoria. “My friends, our work has not finished. Indeed, it is only beginning. But men of vision and generosity like Mr. Rice and his partner, our neighbor Mr. Silas Van Dorn, cannot be relied upon to do everything. We have an election for mayor coming up in a month and we are distressed over the lack of interest among all of you to run for office. We thank Doctor Ridley for filling in as mayor after Brian Mason resigned the office to join the company, but we need the good people of Dover Station to elect a good, strong leader, lest all of our hard work goes for nothing. Look to yourselves and, I implore you, to consider running for this noble office.”
Mackey looked over the crowd as one man yelled out, “Grant for Mayor!” A few more people took up the chant and, within seconds, it echoed as if one voice through the narrow streets of town.
Mackey saw a few familiar faces in the sea of people, but most were total strangers. The rapid growth of the town over these past six months had served to change it so much that he hardly recognized it anymore.
Four men had just been killed a block away from each other within twenty or so minutes. But no one he saw seemed to care about that. They were cheering for a man they hardly knew to run for an office no one wanted. Grant waved it off, of course, but he accepted it all the same.
No, Mackey decided, he did not know these people anymore. People he considered outsiders, even though the town did not belong to him.
Mackey ducked back inside and began heading downstairs.
He needed a mug of Billy’s coffee more than he needed the adulation of strangers.
Chapter 3
Mackey made his way through backslaps and cheers and pushed toward the jailhouse. One of Grant’s new riflemen pushed him back as he tried to mount the steps of the boardwalk.
Walter Underhill shoved his man out of the way. “He’s the sheriff, you idiot.” The big Texan nodded at Mackey. “Sorry about that, Aaron. He’s new and with the crowd and all, he didn’t see your star.”
Mackey normally would have brained the man for touching him, but he had seen enough blood for one day. And given how Underhill had helped defend the town against Darabont’s raiders, the sheriff was more inclined to give him a pass. “It’s fine. What are you still doing here? I don’t see your boss around.”
Underhill thumbed over his shoulder toward the jailhouse. “That’s because Mr. Grant is inside waiting for you.”
A meeting with Grant was the last thing he wanted just then. “Any idea what he wants to talk about?”
“He didn’t tell me, and I wasn’t in a position to ask.”
Mackey didn’t know the big Texan well, but well enough to know he probably was not happy about it. “Guess I’ll find out soon enough. By the way, what’s with the two extra gun hands? Having you trailing him is one thing, but now he’s got three of you.”
“When I signed on,” Underhill said, “it was to help Mr. Rice. But when he went back to New York, he told me to watch out for Mr. Van Dorn. But seeing as old Silas never leaves the house, Van Dorn told me to ride around with Grant. Mr. Rice is a talker and good company. Grant keeps his own counsel. He knows why he does things but doesn’t feel compelled to tell me.”
Mackey decided this might be the time to test a theory he had been turning over in his mind. “Maybe he’s worried about all those train robberies that have been going on south of here.”
“I wouldn’t know because he doesn’t tell me much,” Underhill admitted. “But those robberies have been going on for months now. He only asked me to hire on some new boys a couple of days ago. You should ask him yourself. I told him you wouldn’t like it.”
“But he keeps his own counsel.”
The big Texan looked over the crowd. “I know what you’re thinking, Aaron. The money’s good and regular. But if you could let me know if he tells you anything, I’d appreciate it.”
Mackey clapped the man on the back as he walked up the steps and pushed in the heavy wooden door of the jailhouse.
* * *
He found James Grant standing just inside, with former mayor Brian Mason right beside him. Billy Sunday was at the stove, pouring a mug of coffee.
“Afternoon, Aaron.” Grant was holding his gray bowler hat in his hand. “Fine job you did out there today.”
“You can say that again, Mr. Grant,” Mason added. The ex-politician was a florid-faced man who stood a head shorter than Grant and was much rounder. His considerable girth had only increased since resigning as mayor to take a position at the Dover Station Company. The exact nature of that position had always been a mystery to the sheriff, but he had never been curious enough to find out more.
Mason had been a merchant by trade, but had no discernable skills Mackey thought Van Dorn could use. Like the position of sheriff, Brian had only been elected to the office because no one else had wanted the job.
Mason continued to gas on. “Aaron here’s our hometown Hero of Adobe Flats. The Savior of Dover Station. The pride of the town.”
Mackey took some cartridges from the rack drawer and fed a new round into the Winchester. “How many times do I have to tell you to quit calling me that? It’s the kind of moniker puts a bull’s eye on a man’s back, and I’ve got enough problems without worrying about some idiot looking to make a name for himself by gunning me down.” He put the Winchester back in the rack and closed the drawer.
Grant demurred. “I can see now is not the time to talk about what happened, sheriff. We can come back at another time.”
“Afraid we don’t have the luxury of time, Jimmy.” Mackey shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the peg next to the
rack. “Because Eddows isn’t the only excitement we’ve had this morning. We’ve got three dead bodies over in Tent City.” He looked at Grant. “Squatters on company property, Jim.”
Mason gasped. “You mean you’ve killed four men in one day? I thought I was very clear about curbing your tendencies for excessive violence when I was mayor.”
“Didn’t hear many complaints about my violent nature when Darabont had the town by the throat.”
“That was different.”
“Must be comfortable for you to think that it was, but it wasn’t.” He had no desire to debate past history when it was the present that concerned him most. “There’s three dead in Tent City, but I only killed one of them. The other two did each other in.”
Grant said, “Many of our workers live in Tent City. Do you know who the men were?”
“Both Bollard boys and some guy no one seems to know.” Mackey accepted the mug of hot coffee Billy handed him from the stove and dropped into the chair behind his desk. “One of the Bollards said the third man had robbed from them before things got out of hand. He gutted Bollard, who hit him with both barrels of a shotgun. That’s two in case you’re keeping score. The remaining Bollard wanted to scalp the man who’d knifed his brother and refused my commands to lower the knife, so I had no choice but to put him down.” He looked at Mason. “So technically, I only killed one man today, Brian. Billy over here shot Eddows with the Sharps, so as it stands, we’re tied.”
From the stove, Billy said, “Let’s hope it stays that way.”
Mackey had never seen much honest emotion from James Grant since he had come to work for the Dover Station Company, but he sensed the surprise the man was showing was genuine. “Good God. The Bollard boys worked for me hauling material on some of our projects. Only a fool would try to steal from them.”
“Tent City,” Mason spat. “A den of iniquity, sir. Someone should take a torch and burn them out.”
Billy laughed. “I’d like to see you try it. Go anywhere near that place with an open flame, you’ll be dead before you get within fifty paces. Those people might not have much, but they’re awfully protective of what little they have.”
“They’re not all bad, Brian,” Grant said, admonishing his assistant. “It breaks my heart that so many of our workers are forced to live in such deplorable conditions. We’re trying to get the apartment houses built as soon as possible, but there are only so many workers to go around.”
Mackey sipped his coffee. “Managed to get the saloons open fast enough.”
Grant shrugged. “A saloon’s just a barn, really, with a few interior modifications. Proper residences are a far more complicated matter.”
“Not to mention saloons make a hell of a lot more money than houses do,” Mackey said. “And that’s assuming the rent comes in on time, which it rarely does.”
Grant gave him the same grin he had shown the crowd only a few minutes before. “You’re a brave and dedicated man, Aaron, but building a town isn’t as easy as it sounds. It must happen in stages and with great care, not to mention proper order.”
Billy said, “So the saloons and whorehouses opening first wasn’t an accident, then?”
Clearly sensing defeat, but seeking to avoid a fight, Grant turned to leave. “You’ve both had a full morning. Please accept our thanks again for saving Mr. Ross and for dealing with poor Eddows.” Then, as an afterthought, “And for handling the incident with the Bollard twins, too, of course.”
“Not so fast, Jim.” Mackey pulled out a sheet of paper and a pencil from the top drawer of his desk. He saw the yellow telegraph envelope he had received earlier that morning, but quickly shut the drawer before Grant saw it. “We need to talk about what happened out there just now.”
Grant kept his hand on the door latch. “Why, it’s as plain as the noonday sun. You saved a good man from being executed by a lunatic. I’ll make sure Mr. Van Dorn hears of this as soon as I get back to the office. I am sure he will want to convey his thanks.”
“Afraid it’s not that simple. I know what happened. I’m asking you why it happened at all.”
“I imagine it’s because the young man frayed under the strain of progress.”
Mackey looked at Billy. “That’s a new phrase we’ve got to use more in the future. ‘Frayed under the strain of progress.’ How do you like it?”
“Fancy.” Billy poured himself more coffee. “But it doesn’t answer your question.”
Grant glared at Billy. “Meaning?”
“Meaning the sheriff asked you what made Eddows do all of this fraying you’re talking about.”
Grant looked to Mason for an answer.
The former mayor said, “We hired him on as a day laborer about four or five months ago. I can’t recall exactly when, and I can’t recall having any problems with him, either.” His double chin wiggled as he caught himself. “Well, that is, until today’s unpleasantness, of course.”
“Unpleasantness,” Mackey repeated. “Another good word. Got to use it next time there’s a shooting. Eddows said Ross was a cruel bastard who pushed him and the men too hard. Spouted off about him being an oppressor and how he wasn’t making a fair wage. Any idea what he’s talking about?”
Grant looked at Mason. “Sounds like more of that Marx business.”
“What’s that?” Mackey asked.
“Karl Marx, damn him,” Grant said. “We’ve had some rabble-rousers appear in camp riling up the men with talk of forming trade unions and other nonsense. It fills their heads with bigger ideas than they’re capable of grasping, and they often act out in rash ways. Not to this extent, of course, but given the inflammatory nature of the rhetoric, I suppose it was bound to happen sometime. We’ll make sure we’ll keep an eye on it, won’t we, Brian?”
Mason was eager to comply. “I’ll make inquiries immediately, sir.”
Mackey didn’t know much about Marx, but he knew a dodge when he heard one. “You pushing those men too hard, Jim? Maybe holding back their pay as an incentive to meet your deadlines? Those kinds of things tend to make a workingman angry.”
Grant’s eyes flared for an instant before he remembered himself. It was only a flash, but long enough for Mackey to see it. Despite all of the various jobs Grant had held in his life, he was not fond of being questioned, not even by sheriffs.
The general manager was calm when he said, “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of how much work we’ve been doing in town these past several months. We can’t keep up that pace without holding the men to a strict schedule and high expectations.”
Mackey pointed to the cells in the back. “And I’m sure I don’t need to make you aware of how many people we’ve been holding back there for the past several months. Today’s the first day I can remember where we didn’t have a full house. Drunk and disorderly men, mostly. Your men. Your workers. And not many of them have much money on them when they get hauled in here.”
The sheriff leaned forward in his chair. “I’m going to ask you one last time. Are you pushing those men without paying them?”
“Each man is paid a fair wage for a fair day’s work.” Grant pointed outside. “Take a look at what we’re building out there, sheriff. The Municipal Building is the likes of which this territory won’t see again for a generation, maybe more. Mr. Rice and Mr. Van Dorn envision it as the foundation upon which the renewal of Dover Station, and perhaps Montana’s statehood, will be based. Why, by the time we’re done with this phase of construction, we’ll have nearly doubled the size of the town. Next year, with the mines and logging and farming and ranching consolidated, we may need an even bigger railroad station than the one we just built. Might even triple the size of the town.”
Grant slapped his hat against his leg, bringing a ready smile from Mason. “Yes, sir. Things are changing around here and for the better, too. But success isn’t something that’s lying on the ground waiting to be picked up. You have to dig for it and dig deep.”
Mackey sipped his coffee.
“At what cost?”
Grant demurred. “I think Mr. Van Dorn would be embarrassed if I told you the actual amount the company has spent so far.”
Mackey set his mug on the desk. “I’m not talking about money. I’m talking about the cost in human lives. What happened out there today was luck, pure and simple. Eddows could’ve easily killed Ross and probably would have killed him if we weren’t there.”
“But you were there, sheriff,” Grant pointed out, “and performed admirably, given the choices you had.”
“We got lucky. The wind died down at just the right time. There’s nothing admirable about luck. And despite all the names you’ve pinned on me, I don’t like killing, especially men who are pushed like mules.”
Grant laughed. “A man who has an entire section of the cemetery dedicated to the men he kills and now you claim you don’t like killing? What is it they call it? ‘Mackey’s Garden,’ I believe?”
Mackey felt his anger starting to build. “That’s the unclaimed part of the cemetery, nothing more.” The sheriff leaned forward in his chair. “Eddows didn’t just fray. He snapped. He planned out his attack on Ross, even fashioned a noose for him. And none of your workers stopped him.”
Grant raised his chin. “I’ll look into it, I promise you.”
“You’d better,” Mackey said. “Because if you don’t, Jed Eddows isn’t going to be the last man of yours I have to kill. But he’s the last one I’ll kill without asking you a lot more questions about it.”
Grant put on his brown felt Stetson bowler. “Then let’s hope that our next meeting is under more pleasant circumstances. I bid you gentlemen a good day.”
Mason popped his bowler hat back on his head, too, and opened the door for Grant.
Mackey sat back in his chair. “We’re not done.”
Grant slowly turned to face him. “I’m getting annoyed, Aaron.”
“You’re about to feel a whole lot worse. I see you’ve got gunmen trailing you wherever you go. Why?”
Dark Territory Page 3
